The Inspiration
by Isabel0329
Summary: When writer’s block gets in the way of Bella Swan’s second book, serendipity and misunderstandings bring her inspiration in a place she never thought she’d find it. Edward/Bella. All-human.
1. Chapter 1: Writer's Block

**A/N: I'm back! Long time, no read huh? Just a warning though that I have finals coming up lasting until May 12th, so I'm not sure what kind of time I'll have to update between now and then. I really hope to get another chapter of this out soon, but life always seems to get in the way of writing sadly. **

**Note: Goddess divine Stephenie Meyer owns everything. I just borrow the characters. If I owned them, I'd never let Edward come out and play. Edward Cullen does, however, own me.**

**Summary: When writer's block gets in the way of Bella Swan's second book, serendipity and misunderstandings bring her inspiration in a place she never thought she'd find it. **

**The Inspiration**

**Chapter 1: Writer's Block**

"Ugh! I seriously cannot write anymore! Goodbye talent, hello unemployment!" I sighed in frustration and balled up the sheet of notebook paper I was scrawling on, throwing it over my shoulder and onto the floor.

The floor around me was littered with a lot of balled up sheets of paper actually.

"Okay, drama queen. It seriously can't be that bad. Let me take a look," my best friend Jasper said and picked up the newly discarded piece of paper. I watched him smooth it out on the kitchen table. His eyes scanned the page and I couldn't help but notice him trying to fight a smile as he read.

"It's bad, huh?" I sighed again.

"Well, it depends on your definition of 'bad' per say," he said and half laughed at me.

I threw my arms up in the air and huffed dramatically.

I'd been trying to work on this new book for ages now. To be more precise, I'd tried everything. I could feel a story in the back of my head looming, begging to be let out, but no matter what I did, it just wasn't coming out right.

The worst part was I actually had a deadline coming up. One that if I didn't make, there was a good chance I wouldn't need to finish this book.

I'd always been fairly creative with my writing, but never really considered myself good. In tenth grade I entered some local literature festival and ended up placing second much to my surprise. The story that won was about magical unicorns or something … whatever. Yeah, I still was a little bitter about the unicorns if you can't tell. But I've moved on.

That girl didn't have a bestselling book to her name.

Well, actually I didn't either, but that's a technicality. I wrote under a pseudonym because I was too chicken to attach my real name to anything. Turns out this also afforded me some level of anonymity as well. And thank heavens for that because to my great shock that bestselling book was unexpectedly popular.

And here I was trying to write another one.

This book though was turning out to be more like a bad trip to the dentist than a walk in the part. Cruel, excruciating and all together too difficult. Writing had never been this hard for me and suddenly I had found myself unable to string two sentences together into more sentences.

My agent had been calling me pretty regularly asking for updates and I'd told her the basic premise of the story. She loved it of course, though she did offer some suggestions and frequently asked when she was going to receive the first draft. I gave her the same answer every time. "Soon."

Ugh. Problem was that "soon" was coming much too quickly and there wasn't more I could do to put off that deadline.

"Hey, Bee," Jasper said, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Mmmm yeah?" I mumbled with my arms over my head on the table.

Jasper and I were best friends and had been for pretty much our entire lives. We'd grown up next door to each other in the sleepy town of Forks, Washington. When my parents had divorced and my mother had left, his mom had kind of taken it upon herself to become my surrogate mother. I couldn't thank her enough for it and told her every chance I got. When Charlie, my father, was too embarrassed to give me the 'why your body is changing' talk, Mrs. Whitlock had sat me down and calmly discussed it all with me. We'd gone out and bought my first box of tampons and package of pads together before she sent me back to my house. Charlie's face had been seven shades of red with mortification when I showed him what I'd gotten with her.

Needless to say, Charlie and I were not exactly open with each other about … uh, embarrassing things. Yeah, we were cordial with each other, but he and I had more of a 'less is more' kind of relationship. He was there when I really needed him, but we more or less lived our own lives separate of each other. I knew he fiercely loved me and the one time he'd actually said it my heart had leapt through my throat with that odd kind of love one has for their parents.

But other than that, he just told me he was proud of me. The whole town was actually. I was a local celebrity for becoming so famous after writing my first book. The town major even declared July 12th to be "Isabella Swan Day" in Forks. Oh yeah, I about died when he'd insisted on a public ceremony on the steps of the town hall. I'd pretty much wanted to crawl into a hole and die when the flashbulbs started going off for the one local newspaper and pretty much everybody in town taking pictures of me with their own cameras.

Yeah, I wasn't much for the spotlight. The one television interview I'd done for my book was a complete disaster and my agent had stood off to the side wanting to drown herself in the cup of coffee she'd held. I'd pulled at my hair and looked around shyly the entire time, avoiding the eyes of the interviewer and of course avoiding the camera.

But I digress.

Jasper and I had moved to Chicago after that, me convincing him to come with me by showing him pamphlets of all the museums. He'd always been a history buff. He'd even studied it in college while I'd been the consummate dork and received my degree in English.

He found a job with the Field Museum and was doing research for them about the indigenous Native American tribes of the Midwest. He'd showed me some of the things he'd learned one time, but honestly that stuff kind of bored me to tears.

Regardless of his boring job in life, Jasper was a pretty good guy. In college he'd rescued me from a few absolutely horrible dates, picking me up when I wanted to stab my date's eyes out with a fork over dinner. They were guys that seemed pretty normal on the outside, but once you got them over food or away from other people you pretty much could feel your IQ dropping with each passing second. Or the one who hadn't stopped talking about himself the entire time. Yeah, that guy. We've all had those kinds of dates.

We shared a three bedroom apartment in the city that I paid for with my royalties. Well, that and I'd sold the screen rights to the story too for a pretty decent amount and was told there was good chance it might actually make it to the big screen within the next five or so years.

Jasper and I each had a bedroom and the third room was dedicated to my office, a place I could barely even go in now because I had crumpled pages every where and scribblings tacked on three of the walls. I was a little disorganized at the moment with my thoughts. Okay, a lot disorganized.

Today I was writing at the kitchen table on a pad of paper, the same way I wrote everything. I'd found that handwriting everything allowed me to think slower and let me plan everything out much more thoroughly as I wrote. That and I had pretty cute handwriting so I liked to look at it. Such a girly thing really.

"Seriously, Bee. You're killing me with this miles away thing," Jasper said again.

"Oh, sorry. I keep getting distracted by my thoughts," I half smiled at him.

In another life I would have considered Jasper a very handsome man. He was large compared to me, maybe 6'2" or so compared to my meager 5'6" height. He had sandy, wavy hair that I liked to run my fingers through in a friendly way. He had the friendliest blue eyes I'd ever seen and cute little dimples at the side of his mouth if he smiled just right.

"Darlin," he prodded.

Oh and a tendency to pull out a slight Southern twang he'd acquired from one too many summers visiting his grandmother in Texas.

"J, I know. My head's all over the place right now," I confessed.

He sighed and plopped down at the kitchen table in the chair across from me.

"You know what you need?" he asked.

"A frontal lobotomy?"

He laughed and slapped his knee a few times, his eyes scrunching up and chest shaking.

I rolled my eyes at him.

"Ah, platonic love of my life, you kill me sometimes. Well, I'm not going to argue with that suggestion, but I was thinking more like a break. You've been at it for days now and obviously whatever you're doing isn't working," he said and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms behind his head.

My eyes narrowed and I frowned.

"Who's to say this isn't working?" I asked and crossed my arms in front of me.

Jasper laughed again, this time even harder.

"Seriously, Bee? Are you even trying to pull that crap with me? Geeze, Bella. Just look around. The floor is covered with pages of paper with only a few lines on them. Your office is littered with scribbles. You haven't left the apartment in days," he said and leaned in, sniffing my hair a few times before I pushed him back. "And honestly you kind of smell like pencil lead."

"Ewww gross!" I squealed and ran my fingers through my hair quickly before trying to covertly sniff at the locks.

He was right; I did kind of smell like pencil lead.

I sighed and pushed the legal pad away from me.

"Dammit, Jasper. I hate when you're right. Worst yet, why do you have to be right so damn often?" I asked in defeat.

He chuckled and stood up before leaning over the table.

"Because I'm just that good, Bee. And who else would be so candid with you now that you're Big Famous Author Lady?" he grinned at me.

I rolled my eyes again.

"Yeah, right. I'm not big or famous, and I can hardly consider myself an author seeing as how I can't write a straight sentence right now."

Jasper snorted as he walked down the hall to his bedroom.

I looked at the pad of paper in front of me with all the blank lines and realized Jasper had a point. I'd been holed up in this apartment for too long trying to force something that just wasn't coming out. The old proverbial trying to get blood from a turnip thing.

"Bee, you're always an author and this little stint just proves it. No good author can call herself such until she's experienced a bit of writer's block," I heard Jasper say as he came out of his bedroom and back down the hall towards me.

"Sssshhh!" I said frantically and waved my arms around. "Don't call it that! It's bad luck or something!"

Jasper laughed at me again and plopped something down on the table in front of me.

"Fine. Call it whatever you want, but you need to get out. Explore the city. Live life. See the sights. How are you supposed to write about the world when you're stuck inside scratching at paper?"

He had a point … again. Seriously, this was two in one day for him. I was going to have to buy him a case of beer if he kept up his insightful life lessons at this rate.

"Fine. What do you suggest?" I asked.

"Duh. Museums," he answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"J, I'm not like you, you know. I'm not particularly interested in the mating rituals of the Iroquois tribe last time I checked," I sighed.

"Oh shut it, you. I'm not suggesting you invade my personal area of expertise, but I do think you should go check out the art museum." Jasper pointed to the pamphlet on the table.

I looked down and saw the pamphlet he'd given me was for The Art Institute. He and I had gone there when we'd first moved to Chicago, wanting to see every museum in record time. Some I enjoyed more than others.

The Art Institute I'd actually rather liked. It was quiet and I could get lost in the little galleries for hours. I tended to stay away from the more famous paintings, such as _A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte _by George Seurat and instead focused on the more obscure paintings. I also tended to like portraits over landscapes. Something about connecting with the people in them that appealed to me.

I sat there for a second staring at the pamphlet before deciding to take a trip out to see what I could find. Who knows, I might see a painting to spark something and then I'd be off and writing on my latest and greatest escapade.

"You know, I think I might actually take you up on this suggestion and go see what I can find there," I said looking up at Jasper to find him smiling at me.

"See? Sometimes I'm just brilliant like this," he grinned and fake polished his knuckles like he was some big shot or something.

I rolled my eyes at him. Jasper could be such a dork sometimes. Honestly that's one of the things I loved about him. He could be serious when need be but most of the time we were like brother and sister.

I brought the pad of paper back to my office after getting up from the table, my joints aching and protesting each move I made. I guess I'd been sitting there longer than I thought. Gingerly stepping around all the discarded story pages, I realized that I'd probably need to clean up once I got back from my museum excursion. My normal style was to stay pretty neat and tidy, but lately I'd been letting that slide thanks to being so focused on writing even though it wasn't going very well in the first place.

The forecast was chilly for an October day, so I bundled up in a sweater and light coat. That's one of the things I actually liked about Chicago versus Washington. There was actually distinct seasons in the Midwest as opposed to one long rainy, dreary season back home. You could go days without seeing the sun, sometimes a few weeks. There was an old saying though that if you didn't like the weather in the Midwest, wait five minutes and it will change. Last winter we'd had 15 inches of snow followed by scorching summer temperatures. Talk about bipolar, huh?

I threw my handy Moleskin notebook in my purse in case the urge to suddenly write hit me while I was out and left Jasper read his book about native headwear or something before setting out to see what I could find out there in the big world.

Even though Jasper had the odd day off from work thanks to working three weeks straight including weekends, the rest of the city was out in full force. Business people in suits of every color and shape walked the streets, most on cell phones or talking to other people in similar attire. I walked up Madison towards the lake, admiring the various storefronts as I went. I'd never been a big shopper, but being in a city like this and not shopping was practically a crime. Maybe on the way back I'd stop and pick up the green cable knit sweater I saw in Ann Taylor's window.

I stopped off at some coffee shop and picked up a rich cup of the brown liquid, slowly sipping it as I went along.

I turned south on Michigan Avenue and stood and watched three young boys playing drums on a set of buckets on the corner for awhile. Of course Jasper had been right. I had practically barricaded myself in our apartment for so long that I'd forgotten about the simple joys of life such as this.

Maybe I'd pick him up something nice at the gift shop in the museum when I was done.

After I finished my cup of coffee and tossed the empty cup into the trash, I walked the extra two blocks south until I came to the huge grey stone building housing the Art Institute. The first time we'd visited, Jasper had told me the whole history of it. How the building had originally been constructed for the World's Columbian Exposition in 1893 with the intention of housing the Art Institute upon the fair's closing.

My favorite part of the building were the two gigantic bronze lions standing guard outside, much like I'm sure were every other Chicagoan's favorite part of the Art Institute. I had been amused more than once to see them dressed up in sports uniforms when the Bears or Bulls had made it into the playoffs for their respective sports.

I bought my ticket from a kind older lady at the entrance and began to explore inside. Though the streets of the city were full of people, the inside of the museum was quiet and soothing. I saw a group of school children obviously on a tour wandering around, some looking bored while others were hanging on every word the guide was saying.

The white walls stood in stark contrast to the colorful paintings with ornate frames. I think that was one of my favorite things about art museums, the contrast between the two settings. In a lot of ways I was a minimalist in things, preferring to be short and to the point in my writing as well as my life.

My shoes made quiet noises on the light wood floors as I walked and I rounded a corner to come upon a quiet little small gallery I hadn't noticed before when Jasper and I had toured the museum together.

The sign next to the doors said "Chicago Artist Spotlight: EC." I pushed the glass doors to the gallery open and entered the small room off one of the main galleries, finding nobody in there.

There were probably half a dozen or so paintings, some larger than others. The biggest though was about five feet tall and three feet wide. It had a simple gold frame free of all the regalia of many of the other paintings in the museum. It hung on the wall off in a corner of the small gallery and there was a ceiling mounted spotlight aimed at the painting.

I crossed the small gallery in a handful of steps to examine the painting more closely.

It was a woman with her back to the artist, her head twisted around so the viewer could see her proud profile. She was wearing only a smile and a thin sheet around her waist, her back bare and skin that was practically glowing. She had long golden blonde hair and pink pouty lips.

I glanced around at the rest of the paintings and found all of them had women in states of undress similar to the biggest painting. It was this woman though that exuded the most confidence. She knew she was beautiful and she wanted the entire world to know it as well. It was almost unnerving to look at her even in a painting because of her beauty.

She was simply captivating.

There was a small couch in the middle of the gallery for visitors to sit down and admire the work and I positioned myself so that I could see practically all of the paintings while sitting.

Hours must have passed while my eyes skipped from painting to painting, taking in each small detail. Whoever the artist was, he was obviously talented because even though all the women were in various states of undress, I never once was squeamish or felt uncomfortable by it. He had managed to capture the essence of these women in his paintings and I felt I almost knew them by seeing them so honest and bare before me.

The blonde in the largest painting was in a few others and in each of her paintings I sensed an air of almost nobility from her. Whoever she was, she obviously had a dominating presence and the artist had captured it perfectly. But at the same time, I sensed that this woman held a lot of contempt for others as well. The way her eyes looked down her nose made me believe that she looked upon some as lesser than her, perhaps even the artist himself. That she was gracing him by allowing him to paint her.

In the time I was there, a few visitors walked in and out of the little gallery, but none spent as long as I did in there. None admired the paintings to the depth I did.

I think I empathized with artists in a lot of ways. Writing and painting here quite similar. I'd been told before how easy it must be to write if you have natural talent, but I think a lot of people didn't understand that writing took time to develop. Yes, natural talent sure helped, but a talented person usually couldn't just sit down and write out a full length Pulitzer-winning novel on their first try. And a writer certainly shouldn't force writing when it wasn't flowing naturally.

The more I sat there, the more I realized that. I had been forcing my writing and it just wasn't working for me. Perhaps Jasper had the best idea when he said I should live life and see where it takes me. Without inspiration to write, it's pretty damn hard to put together a story anybody would want to read.

I took my Moleskin out of my purse and jotted down a quick note to myself to call my agent and ask for an extension on my first portion due in to her. I thanked my lucky stars she liked me because if I asked sweetly enough, she probably would give it to me no questions asked. Hopefully all I would need would be one extension otherwise she might not be so sweet the second time I asked for one.

I must have drifted off into some mindless state of something because the next thing I knew, someone was tapping me on the shoulder from behind. I looked up, startled at the feeling. It was one of the museum guards in his uniform.

He smiled at me, nodded his head and said, "Museum's closing early today, miss. You're going to have to pack it up and move on out."

I quickly stood from the couch and slipped my notebook back into my purse.

"Thanks, sir. I'm sorry I've been just hanging out here," I said quietly in return.

He nodded again and replied, "S'okay. He's a talented painter. Pretty nice guy too if you ask me."

As we walked out of the gallery I turned to him saying, "You've met the artist?"

The guard smiled wistfully and said, "Yeah, he comes by ever so often to see his work hanging up. Not often someone so young is popular enough to be exhibited here."

I slung my bag over my shoulder and laughed softly. "That's true I guess. Most of the time you have to die or cut your ear off to be so famous."

The guard chuckled in reply. "Pretty much," he laughed.

As I walked towards the museum exit, the guard and I kept talking about little things and I decided I would come back to look at the rest of the museum's works again, but more so to look at the little side gallery some more. There was simply something captivating about this EC's work that I wanted to explore more.

The sun was starting to set over the tops of the skyscrapers as I made my way out the building. A cool fall breeze was blowing through the streets, reminding me of the city's moniker.

I may have not found the inspiration to write my entire book in one sitting, but I could feel the bricks of my writer's block slowly starting to loosen in their long since set mortar.

Turns out Jasper had been right all along. My system wasn't working for me. Thankfully though, I think I had begun to find a new one.

Now back to that cable knit sweater I saw on my walk earlier. And of course that six pack of beer for Jasper to thank him for giving me the push I needed.


	2. Chapter 2: Not A Starving Artist

**Note: Goddess divine Stephenie Meyer owns everything. I just borrow the characters. If I owned them, I'd never let Edward come out and play. Edward Cullen does, however, own me.**

**The Inspiration**

**Chapter 2: Not A Starving Artist  
**

**Edward**

The blank, white canvas was mocking me. It was fucking mocking me. Just sitting there on that stupid, goddamn easel and mocking me.

_You don't have it any more, Mr. Never Was Creative. _

"Shut it, you," I hissed out at it.

"Talking to me?" the bottle blonde said from behind the easel.

I rolled my eyes so she couldn't see me. Of course she thought I was talking to her. She thought everything was about her. I mentioned how I wanted to have Thai for dinner and she flatly refused, saying that Thai food wasn't her favorite. Whatever. I'm sure I could mention something about the indigenous people of Namibia and she'd turn it into a comment about herself.

So why did I keep her around and not just throw her out on her 'perfect' ass? Because as much as I fucking hated to admit it, a large part of why I was so damn famous was due to her. Great. Not that I'd ever actually admit to her that fact. Like she needed any more fuel for her already Texas-sized ego.

She did plenty well without me saying anything.

"Edddddddddd-ward," she whined.

I sighed loudly and put my paintbrush down on the stool beside my easel. Wasn't like I was going to get anywhere on this new painting like this.

"What?" I said, poking my head around the canvas.

Any other man would be entranced by the sight standing before me, but in a lot of ways I wasn't every other man.

Rosalie was what most men considered their ultimate fantasy girl. I'd been told plenty of times before as to that fact. I'm pretty sure ninety percent or more of the art community thought we were fucking like monkeys between me painting her, but they couldn't be more wrong.

Sure there was that one night I had a little too much to drink after I made my first major sale, but that really hadn't gone anywhere.

We'd been hanging out in my loft, downing champagne like water and I think the bubbles and the alcohol went to my head way to fast. I may have not had beer goggles in the literal sense, but when Rose advanced on me I didn't have much willpower to give her my traditional answer until she'd snaked her hand into my pants and was about five seconds away from pulling my cock out.

The second her cold, clammy hands had snaked around the head of my cock I'd sobered up damn plenty to come to my senses and jerk away from her.

She'd given me the silent treatment for a month after that. Sure, she'd still posed for me because she sure as hell wasn't going to give up the possibility of being in another one of the up and coming EC's paintings, but there wasn't much more interaction beyond that.

Best month of my life, if you ask me.

I didn't have to listen to her whinings and half shrill voice that cut through me like a hot knife through soft butter. I swear that girl had the ability to make my balls actually crawl into my body with one shrill cackle.

I'd actually considered buying her a ball gag to wear while I was painting, lying to her and telling her it was a theme piece so she'd actually shove it in her overly pouty mouth.

Lips any man would pay ten grand to have wrapped around their cock I refused to let anywhere near me if I could get away with it.

Rosalie was the classic statuesque blonde model. Feminine legs and hips with a slender waist and decent sized breasts. She'd told me the size of them one time, proudly naming off her measurements. Just another thing out of her mouth I ignored. Besides, I think she fudged a little with her weight. There was no way she was 107 pounds. I just knew not to question them because I liked my dick still attached to my body.

She had long blonde hair that shimmered under my studio lights and was slightly wavy at the ends. She kept it long because she liked to be able to flip it over her shoulder as she huffed away from whatever situation she deemed beneath her, which happened more often than not.

Rosalie happened into my life in a rather innocuous way actually.

For the longest time I'd used women that I'd encountered in my daily life as models. Some where prettier than others. Some had where stick thin and some where soft and feminine.

I painted them all nude.

There was something about the soft lines of a woman's naked body that enchanted me. I liked to see how they covered themselves up instinctually, especially the women who'd never been nude in front of someone who wasn't their lover or doctor.

Though granted some of these women had been my lovers at some point. Short-lived as such, but yes I had a propensity to paint women who were closer to me emotionally. Sometimes the sex happened before modeling and sometimes it happened after. And then there was that one girl who I just couldn't wait any longer and I threw my brush down and fucked her right in the middle of her session. Unfortunately that particular woman was dumb as a fucking rock and couldn't carry a conversation if her life depended on it.

Needless to say she didn't model for me again.

I always looked for something more in my models. A twinkle in their eye. The way their coy smile lured me in. The graceful arch of a neckline or the way I could practically see into their heads and read their thoughts through their eyes. I was a particular fan of eyes.

Rosalie, on the other hand, was recommended by a call I put into a modeling agency. On a whim I called the biggest modeling agency in Chicago and the next day Rose showed up on my doorstep, pushing her way into my loft and practically tearing off her clothes on the way to pose herself.

I'd liked the looks of her for the sole reason that she obviously had self esteem issues. Rose was a contradiction in terms. She came off as being the most haughty and egotistical person, but I could see a little scared girl who'd been damaged when I looked in her eyes. She was hiding some secret from her past and she covered it up by focusing on her appearance and how people saw her on the outside.

If you can't fix what's on the inside, you could always fix what's on the outside. I think that's the mentality Rosalie took in life, whether knowingly or not.

That first session had been tempestuous at best. She'd demanded to be painted in one pose while I wanted another. She'd huffed her way through the whole thing, remarking how remarkably slow I seemed to be going. I reminded her that painting is not like photography. I couldn't just click the camera and have her image ready and waiting for me. It took time to develop.

Much like my relationship with Rosalie took to develop. Okay, not a relationship in that sense, but a relationship nonetheless. I learned how to handle her. When to encourage her and when to smartly take her down.

I think Rose thought of herself as my muse and as much as it pained me to admit, I probably wouldn't be featured in the Art Institute if it wasn't for her image. So I did the proverbial grin and bear it with her.

I put up with her replacing my Dunkin Donuts coffee in my machine with some eco grown fair trade dark roast that she said she was hooked on after being the spokesmodel for the brand. Like she really cared about if eight year old children in some third world country were paid pennies a week to pick coffee beans. Maybe that's how she slept at night.

I allowed her to fill my loft with some freaky floral candles that smelled like my mom's gardens at full bloom because she said she was in a better state of mind to model for me with them burning. Shit, I would have been in a better state of mind with stale pizza and old beer laying around, but noooooo not Rose. Fine. She could have her smelly candles.

The day she'd refused to take her pants off if I didn't replace my old Rolling Stones LPs with her mating whales CD I'd almost kicked her out. She was really fucking annoying sometimes.

But I didn't kick her out.

I smiled and nodded and agreed that "Ruby Tuesday" was in no way better than natural animal sounds. I think somewhere in the world I took five years of Keith Richards' life when I said that, something he didn't need considering he pretty much looked to be one foot in the grave most of the time anyway.

"Edddddddddd-ward!" Rosalie squealed.

She crossed her arms over her naked body and I swear for a moment her nipples were glaring at me, slightly lopsided. My dick laughed at her from its safe place within my pants.

"What, Rosalie? What now?" I snipped at her.

"Have you even done anything on that canvas? You've been staring at it for thirty minutes, jackass!" she huffed and tapped her perfectly pedicured toes.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes at her. Another typical Rosalie moment. Wondering why creativity wasn't coming as easily to me as being beautiful came to her. There really was no use explaining to her how being creative actually worked. I might as well be explaining the life support systems on the International Space Station, though fuck knows if I know how they actually work.

And to be perfectly honest, my whole creativity mojo was off balance lately. I would start something and it would be coming along nicely when WHAMO! Painter's block. Or whatever it was called. I'd freak my shit out and agonize over every stroke of the brush.

I had five unfinished paintings just freaking sitting there waiting for me to move past whatever was keeping me from finishing them and move on my way with them. Lord knows I could make a pretty penny if I ever did.

When I'd been contacted by the Art Institute's special collections curator for the feature in the museum my fame had skyrocketed in the local art scene and my paintings were suddenly selling at a much higher amount than they were before the exhibit. Not that I was complaining in the least. I didn't have to live that typical starving artist lifestyle so many of my art school buddies were proudly sporting.

Yeah because eating ramen noodles and begging for bakery leftovers at the end of the day made you more creative. Hell, I'm not begrudging them anything or looking down on them in any way, but being able to afford heat in the frigid Chicago winters and enjoying a nice juicy steak every now and them definitely had it's perks. A nice extra rare porterhouse at Ruth's Chris down on North Dearborn could get my mouth watering like nothing else. Fuck yes, I loved my meat bloody. I wanted it practically still mooing when it came out from the kitchen. I loved when a little drip of really red juice dripped out of my mouth. Best. Thing. Ever.

The one time I'd taken Rose there as a celebration for selling a painting at a particular high price she'd ordered a salad. A fucking salad. At Ruth's Chris. Practically sacrilege. You're at a fucking steakhouse, babe. Eat the damn meat. Prissy bitch. Whatever.

"So are we going to do anything or are you just going to stand there and stare at my cute, sexy little pussy?" she smirked.

Yes, right. That thing. The thing that Rose always made sure I saw whenever she got naked for me. The one thing I vowed never to ever go anywhere near. I'm pretty sure if my dick ever entered those gates of hell it would get bitten off by her vagina teeth. Vagina dentate was the Latin phrase for it. Sure they were a complete myth, but my dick's luck would be that she'd actually have them. The Dude shriveled back into my body at the thought of it. _I know, buddy. I promise you'll never find out. Not on my life or yours, _I thought.

That's right. I named my penis after The Big Lebowski. Seriously … what guy wouldn't?

I sighed and ran a hand through my long, shaggy hair.

_Hmmmm, getting near chin length now. _

This painting wasn't getting done today. Hell, it probably wasn't even going to get started today. So let's just cut our losses and take the rest of the day off. I haven't dropped by my exhibit in about a week or two.

"I'll take what's behind door number three, Alex," I said in a flat voice, turning to organize my paints.

"What?" she asked me.

I yet again fought the urge to roll my eyes before giving in knowing that she couldn't see me with my back to her. Ahhhhh, that felt nice.

"I'm going to go out for the day. I need to take a little break from painting for a few days. I'm sure you can find ways to entertain yourself," I answered flatly.

Rosalie huffed and started moving around behind me, and I could hear the distinctive sounds of pissed off model mode starting to set in. The heavy footsteps. The angry whimpers. And … and … wait for it …

"Really, Edward? Really? You're doing this to me now of all times?" she whined.

Yep, there we go. Right on time, Rosalie. You about let me down.

"Yes, Rose. You may not understand this, but sometimes artists go through periods of creative unrest. And it seems that I'm in one of those periods right now. So if you'd do me a favor and get on your merry little way, I have things I should do," I explained in a slow, calm voice fit for a small child who didn't have the mental comprehension to pick up on what I was saying.

I turned around and Rose was pulling her shirt over her head. She fluffed her hair and adjusted her boobs so they sat up in the low neckline. Probably looking to tease me into staring at her tits. I knew her ways. Whatever. Unfortunately for her, her ways didn't work.

"Fine, Mr. 'I need a creative break,'" Rosalie snapped out. "Give me a call when you're ready to look at perfection. And don't forget about that gallery opening in two weeks!"

"Rose, like I could forget about that. I swear Emmett calls me every five fucking hours to remind me of it."

Emmett was my cousin and my agent. Looking at the guy you'd never think he was so well versed in the art world given that he was built more like a football player than a knowledgeable art connoisseur. Looks were definitely deceiving though. Double majoring in art history and business during college, he was the smartest person I knew even if he played himself off as being some big lug. I don't think I'd be where I was if it wasn't for him in large part. He played just as big of a part in my newfound success as Rosalie's image did.

Much to my chagrin, he also had eyes for Rosalie. She of course paid no attention to him. She wanted whatever she couldn't have, and I was target numero uno. I'm pretty sure the only thing that would ever stop her from trying to get her hands on me would be a ring on my finger and even then I doubted it would make that much of a difference.

Rose may have not been the person outright in the world, but underneath her tough bitchy exterior, I ultimately knew there was really a good person. She annoyed the crap out of me on a routine and regular basis, and she also amazed me by pulling out these little things every now and then that would make me almost stop in my place and stare at her.

She was fiercely loyal and would definitely defend what she considered hers. She'd talked about wanting kids beyond just about anything in her life, but her current career as a model really wasn't conducive to raising children or being pregnant for that matter. She planned on banking enough money as she possibly could, get as famous as she could and then taking some time off to eventually have kids.

It was just a matter of finding a guy she always said. Of course, she also smiled a little wider and leaned over a little more, and I knew of course that she was insinuating that I would be the guy.

Um, no. My Tab A would never be inserted in her Slot B thank you very much.

I heard the door slam behind me and I sighed knowing Rosalie would probably whine like a young girl for the next two weeks after I finally called her to get her back in for more modeling. Then I'd sell another painting of her and she'd be all fine with me. I think in large part she got off on the idea that people where admiring her image all over in the art community. It made her secure and better about herself. Almost like she was worth looking at.

I slipped my old favorite suede coat on and threw on a ratty scarf around my neck. It may be a complete chick thing to say but I love scarves.

The midday Chicago streets were bustling with activity. Suits doing whatever suits do, probably making multi-million dollar business deals over boring things. Every day I woke up I thanked my lucky stars I didn't have to do that crap for a living. I could make my own hours and got to wear whatever the fuck I wanted. No uncomfortable ties for me. I swear those things were invented for the sole reason to choke guys at work.

I stopped by Garrett's Popcorn and got some of my favorite cheese popcorn, munching as I walked the streets. The cold wind cut right through me and signaled that this winter would be a frigid one. Definitely going to have to turn the heat up this winter. Luckily I could pay for my heat, unlike my one friend Derrick who had to wear gloves when he painted so his fingers didn't fall off from frostbite.

I threw the empty bag of popcorn away and licked my fingers clean. Mmmm, I loved that stuff.

There were a group of spirited children putting on some performance for change on the corner of Michigan Avenue and Washington so I stood and watched them for a bit, throwing some loose change I had in my pockets in a small bucket they'd placed out in front of where they were performing. I knew what it was like to be creative and I liked to encourage children to be creative as much as I could. And besides, they were pretty good at what they were doing. The one kid who couldn't have been more than five years old could keep a freaking beat on that damn bucket like nobody else.

The lions at the front steps welcomed me back to the building I probably could consider my second home. I spent more time there than was healthy in my childhood, my mother encouraging my creativity as much as she could.

First thing I did after I made my first big sale was pay off a credit card bill I'd been carrying for awhile. The second thing was to buy myself a two year membership to the Art Institute that I just kept renewing. I used it pretty often, coming and checking out the masterpieces that I longed to be apart of one day.

I think that's why I was beyond honored to be featured in the small local artist gallery in the back corner of the museum. I visited often enough, still blown away every time I saw my name on the wall. Well, my initials actually. I used only my initials as my professional name because as much as I liked the fame and money influx, I didn't like the spotlight. I preferred to remain in the shadows and enjoy my fame with quiet smirks.

The art is what should be focused on, not me. After all, that's what people where paying for. Not the fact that I did it. My name wasn't big enough for that yet. I hadn't reached the point where I could paint vomit on canvas and it would sell for fifty thousand. That's when you know you've become become bigger than your work when something like that happens. That's my opinion at least.

The older woman at the front desk smiled warmly at me when I showed her my member card.

"Good to see you back, Edward. It's been awhile, hasn't it?" Beatrice said.

I chuckled and patted her hand, "Yes, it has, Bea."

Her bifocals slipped down her nose and she pushed them back up, hiding her smile with the back of her hand. Beatrice had one of her teeth missing on the upper left side and she didn't like people to see it.

"Here to check on your exhibit again?" she asked.

I leaned towards her, exuding some of my Cullen family charm in the process. My father always said it was what made us good with the ladies. I said it helped me get my way on more than one occasion.

"Of course I am. Have to make sure nobody's touching my fine paintings, don't I?" I remarked, my voice somewhat lowering in the process.

I practically heard the older woman swallow and her eyes seemed to glaze over a bit.

Leaning back with a slight smirk, I patted her hand once more and walked into the museum.

Normally I would spend time looking at my favorite paintings and sculptures (a medium I was particularly fascinated with as I could do nothing within it myself), but this time I took the path I'd taken a few times before and went right up to my little slice of the world.

Old Jerry, the guard assigned to this part of the museum, was on duty again standing outside my gallery and I clapped him on the back when I came up behind him.

"Oh geeze, Edward! Don't do that to an old man! You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days doing that," he huffed and had his hand over his chest.

I laughed a little at him and crossed my arms over my chest.

"So how's things lately around here?" I asked, nodding my head towards my gallery.

"Ah, going well so far today. Nothing to report. There's one woman who's been in there for awhile now. Made herself pretty comfortable on that couch," he chuckled and his the wrinkles around his eyes pulled together in a sign of his age.

I peered in through the glass doors and sure enough there sitting on the couch in the center of the gallery with her back to me was a woman who seemed to be paying close scrutiny to my paintings.

She had long brown hair and I could see glints of gold weaving through it from reflecting off the gallery lights overhead. There didn't seem to be anything else that was particularly spectacular about her from the back honestly though.

I glanced around the rest of the gallery and saw that all of my paintings were still in their places I'd instructed they be hung.

"How long she been in there, Jerry?" I turned back to the old guard.

"About an hour now," he answered and scratched his cheek.

I took one glance back at the woman and she was still intently gazing at my works.

Well, no use disturbing her then. I could plainly see from here that nothing was amiss in the gallery.

I clapped the guard on the back again as I headed back out towards the front of the museum.

"Take care, Jerry. I'll be back sometime soon probably. Having some problems doing my next one," I remarked.

He wheezed a bit as he coughed and I pounded his back a little.

"Gotta stop that smoking, man. Gonna kill you one of these days," I said.

"Yeah well. No use stopping now. Something's gonna kill me," he wheezed back.

I chuckled and stepped away.

"See you around, Jerry," I said chuckling, a slight smile on my lips. More likely than not, Old Jerry is going to outlast us all.

"You too, Edward. You too," he called after me softly.

The cars were speeding by on Michigan Avenue as I exited the building, that same cold fall air blowing up around me.

_Winter's going to be cold this year,_ I thought and headed back towards my loft.

If I could just work through whatever block I have on painting though, my winter would be a lot easier.

My cellphone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out, flipping it open and putting it to my ear in one swift motion as the sea of suited bodies converged around me. The work day was starting to wind down and the inevitable throng of professionals were descending on public transportation to get back to their comfortable, boring houses in the suburbs.

"Emmett, I know. Gallery opening. Thanks," I quipped into the phone, knowing full well who called me this many times a day.

I snapped the phone shut again before he had a chance to get his words out and let myself get lost in the sea of black and grey.

Maybe if I lost myself just for a little bit, I would find what I needed.

These paintings weren't going to paint themselves after all.


	3. Chapter 3: Mojo

**A/N: Exams are over and I'm still coherent enough to whip out a new chapter tonight! Yay! Thanks for sticking with me even through the delay in my writing. I really do appreciate it. **

**The Inspiration**

**Chapter 3: Mojo**

**Bella**

I spent four hours that night I came home from the museum cleaning my office. All the discarded pages of paper where smoothed out and read. The ones that were promising or had lines I wanted to save I put in a folder. The completely useless ones went right into the trash can. Unfortunately the trashcan had more than the folder.

The Post-Its that covered the blank wall of the office where arranged into the elements of my story. I had a basic outline of what I wanted to happen now, but still didn't know how I wanted to get from point to point. I guess that's how I wrote a lot of the time though. My writing was really organic and it was hard to explain to people how I worked.

A lot of time I'd sit down and write and write and not even realize what I had put down on the page until I went back and reread what I wrote. And just between you and me, sometimes I even surprised myself with what I wrote.

I kind of went into these zones when I wrote most of the time. Hours upon hours would pass and I wouldn't be aware of anything around me. And it was the funniest thing too that I felt more like I was cataloging someone's life than creating a story about fictional characters. Almost like I was looking in on someone's daily experiences and writing down what they did. My characters sometimes felt more real to me than any person I knew in real life. Perhaps it was because I knew what motivated them. I knew their emotions intimately. I could tell you what was running through their head at any given moment. I could tell you who they loved and who they hated.

Around the end of my fourth hour of cleaning Jasper popped his head into my office.

"Damn, Bee! I can actually see horizontal surfaces in here! You might actually have a real bona fide office one of these days here again," he chuckled.

I glared at him and grabbed one of the still balled up wads of paper, throwing it at him and hitting him in the head. He mocked being hit much harder and staggered around the room pretending to hold his head and moaning.

"You wound me, Bee! How can you do something so heinous to your best friend in the entire world?" he said, clutching at his heart for a moment.

I gently pushed him on the arm and he fell onto the small couch I had put in the room. Just as he was going down though, he grabbed my arm and pulled me down with him.

To anybody watching us it would look like an intimate act. In a way that's kind of what it was. Jasper and I had been so close for so long though that we weren't afraid to do stuff like this and have it be awkward.

We'd seen each other naked too many times to count thanks to having one bathroom in the apartment and prior to that sharing one too many sleepovers.

The first time I saw Jasper's junk I'll be straight up honest with you, I was utterly fascinated. I mean, I'd seen them before but his was just so … nice. I was 16 and the concept of boys as sexual beings was still fairly new to me. For about six point eight seconds I actually lusted after him, but it took one look at to whom the junk was attached for the lust to dissipate.

It was a common misconception actually that Jasper and I either at one point had been together or that we were together. First, we were always in close proximity to each other. Second, we finished each other's sentences quite frequently. Third, we bickered like an old married couple sometimes. And fourth, we really had no boundaries when it came to the physical stuff. He could touch me, I could touch him. Not in that sexual way, but more of an intimate way.

Several times I had received quiet questions off to the side when people first met us asking us if we were together. Mostly women to be quite honest, and mostly because those women wanted to see if it was okay to pursue Jasper. Problem for them was that he had extremely high standards when it came to women.

He liked them smart, well read, funny and caring. And when I say smart, I mean super intelligent. For god sakes, this is the guy who could probably give a several hour lecture comparing and contrasting the coming of age rituals of the central plains Native Americans in relation to the coastal tribes. Granted my eyes would have glazed over after the first five minutes tops, but this was a man who liked his women well read.

Sure he was lured in by flashy gimmicks to start with like any guy, but it took a really special woman to keep his attention for more than an hour tops. He'd had one relationship in college that had lasted for any negligible period of time, a Mexican girl named Maria who had been majoring in combat science. She was some high ranking position in the campus ROTC group and her and Jasper had these really intense discussions about troop strategies before it just became too much for Jasper.

I remember the day they broke up too. Jasper had called me up asking to crash at my apartment that night, saying he needed some "special Bee time." I knew when he used that phrase it meant something bad had happened. I had run out and grabbed a 12pack of his favorite beer as comfort. We'd pretty much gotten shit-faced together and he'd confessed that Maria had gotten too intense too quickly for him.

It was the last time I actually saw him cry, even though it was only a few tears. Maria was more of a strategic planner while Jasper admittedly was more of the romantic. She saw marriage as a contractual obligation to the other person while Jasper genuinely believed in the idea of soulmates. And simply put, he just didn't feel like Maria was his soulmate.

I think that's another reason why he liked moving out to Chicago with me. He'd seen enough of Washington to last him a lifetime and thought that Chicago might hold the key to the next chapter in his life.

"So Bellabee, how was the museum?" he asked, bringing me out of my thoughts.

I turned in his lap and I could sure see why girls found him attractive. His wide smile, dimples and wavy blonde hair were the apple of many a girl's eyes.

"I really liked it, J-bear," I answered, using my childhood nickname for him.

He grinned at me, showing off those Whitlock dimples he inherited from his momma, and I knew exactly what he was going to say next.

"I knew it," we said at the same time.

And of course, the fact that we echoed each other that way set off a fresh round of giggles which lasted until we were both winded.

"Am I that predictable?" he fake pouted at me.

I giggled again and ruffled his ashy blond locks.

"Duh, J. But only sometimes so don't worry about it too much. You're still my best friend regardless. Just because you're predictable doesn't make you any less of that," I soothed him.

He smiled again. "Well good. I don't want my predictability to somehow tarnish that status. I've earned that title by picking up your stinky ass off the floor one too many times when you've been bowing to the porcelain gods after a party. Remember that one time junior year that you swore it was a good idea to see how many Jaegerbombs you could have in a row?" he asked and poked my side.

I grabbed where he'd poked and groaned. "Ugggghhhhhh, that was not a good night at all. Why the heck did you let me do that? I've never been so sick. I swear death would have been better than that horrific hangover."

"Because you needed to learn your lesson, Bee. Don't take on too much that you just can't handle."

I glared at him again. Jasper was always trying to teach me these life lessons he thought I needed. It was one of his faults and yet one of his best traits. Funny enough though, he was more right than he was wrong. Significantly more frequently too. I guess Jasper was just wise beyond his years sometimes.

"Whatever. Just don't ever let me do something like that again, okay?" I asked.

Jasper's face got dead serious for a second before he answered.

"Of course, Baby Bee. I'd never let anything happen to you, hell or high water. You're my best friend and the closest I have to a sister. If somebody wanted to hurt you'd they'd have to go through me first. I'd walk through flames to keep you safe."

I felt this lump grow in my throat.

We didn't often talk about stuff like this, instead preferring to take the route Charlie and I took with each other. We knew how the other felt, so it didn't necessarily need to be voiced. It was more of an innate feeling you had. I knew my father loved me and even if he didn't say it, that was plenty enough for me.

But I guess that's how Jasper was when it came right down to it too. Fiercely protective of what he held close to him. In a lot of ways that's what I loved about him. He'd always be there for me no matter what just like I'd be the same for him.

"Awww, J. You're going to make me cry like a girl now," I fake blubbered to hide the fact I actually wanted to really blubber.

Jasper brought his hand up to his neck, rubbing the skin and stray hairs there. He glanced down at the floor and his cheeks flushed.

"Didn't mean to, but sometimes it just needs to be said."

I wiggled a little in Jasper's lap for him to let me loose and I ended up falling back onto the floor with a thud.

"Ooof!" I exclaimed.

And with that surprise movement, the awkward stillness that had settled around us vanished. Jasper broke into heavy guffaws and was slapping his knee before I had time to pick myself up off the floor.

"Oh very funny! Laugh at a girl while she's down!" I said and threw another wadded ball of paper at him.

"Sorry, Bella Bee. I couldn't help it. You're just too funny sometimes. All sweet and syrupy one second then cracking me up the next. How do you do that so well?" he grinned as wiped away actual tears from laughing so hard.

I shrugged my shoulders at him. "Guess it's just a talent of mine."

"Fair enough. So did you find anything at the museum you want to share with Uncle Jasper? Please tell the audience what you thought of the enlightening experience of the Art Institute," Jasper said and mock pretended to interview me. He was always trying to get me over my inevitable awkwardness when being interviewed. I guess that's another thing I loved about him. He was always trying to make me better at who I was.

"Well, there was this one exhibit by some local artist that was pretty interesting. It was in the far back corner. You remember, the one little one off the Post Modern gallery?" Jasper nodded and I continued.

"Okay well, it was actually a really cool exhibit. This artist, whoever he is, has some serious talent. Pretty much all the paintings were portraits of women and they were all in various states of undress or completely nude."

Jasper's ears perked up at the mention of nude women.

"Nude you say?" he asked and grinned like the Cheshire cat.

"Oh grow up, perv boy," I laughed and rolled my eyes.

He grabbed one of the paper wads I'd thrown at him and hurled it right back at me.

"What? I'm a guy with a functioning cock. Of course you say naked ladies and I'm going to be interested," he exclaimed.

"Whatever. Just keep it in your pants, lover boy. You know how I feel about hearing the dirty deed through the walls."

"Yeah, you said I can do it whenever I want cause it gets you horny," he chuckled.

"Dude. I said that once! And I was drunk when I said it if I remember correctly."

"Semantics," Jasper said and waved his hand dismissively at me. I rolled my eyes again at him.

"So what was so particularly interesting about these naked ladies you're teasing my goods with? Sounds a lot like blown up pages of Playboy if you ask me," he asked, sounding a bit more adult than his previous comments.

I tapped my chin and thought about it for a moment before answering.

I thought back to the biggest painting, the one with the haughty blonde woman. The one who you could tell carried this burden on her back even with the proud look in her eyes. There was a double edged sword to her looks and one that perhaps not a lot of people saw.

"I think it was the way they were portrayed. The artist took care not to just paint their bodies. It almost seemed to me like I could see their very personality in the way he portrayed them. Like he had this personal connection with each and every one of his subjects. Almost like he could read their mind and plucked whatever thoughts they were having from their head and transferred it onto the canvas," I explained, my hands making brush stroke motions as I went.

"Hmmm, sounds interesting," Jasper intoned. "So I'm guessing the sudden urge to detrash the office came from today's events?"

I shrugged again.

"Well I guess. I mean I'm starting to get some of my creative mojo back, but I'm not necessarily sure I'm ready to sit down at this very moment and put together the next Pulitzer winner."

"Pffft. Bee, you have more talent in your little toe than I have in my entire body. All I do is get geeked out over native headgear and tribal dances. You create things that inspire people. I've read your reviews, baby. You're well on your way to actual honest to goodness stardom if you keep this writing thing up. I have complete faith in that," he said and waived off my self doubt with a flick of his hand.

I felt the inevitable blush creeping into my cheeks with his comments.

"Thanks, J. You always know how to make a girl feel really good about herself, you know that?" I said shyly, my fingers curling around the ends of my hair and feeling the awkwardness creep into my body.

Jasper grinned at me.

"Of course I know that. And of course I'm good at making you feel good about yourself. That's what best friends are for," he said and smiled.

"Damn straight!" I giggled.

"Damn straight!" Jasper echoed.

I threw another piece of paper in the trash and surveyed my cleaning job. The surface of my desk could actually be seen. The floor was clear of loose paper. The Post-Its were in an orderly fashion. Pads of paper were stacked up in the corner of my desk waiting to be written on. Pens were all back in the cup right next to the desk lamp. I'd actually accomplished quite a bit for a few hours of work in comparison to how long it had taken me to pretty much trash my office.

"So Bee, when are you going back?" Jasper asked from behind me.

I turned around and looked at him still sitting on the couch, his eyes focused intently on me.

"Going back?" I asked quizzically.

"Well, yeah. The museum was obviously of some benefit to you and if it's helping you get that all important mojo back I don't see why you shouldn't keep going if it's going to inspire you. Go back tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that. Why stop doing something that's going to help you?" he asked and leaned forward onto his arms.

"You do have a point …" I said and bit my lip.

Jasper grinned and threw up his arms into the air.

"Of course I do! I'm Jasper, all knowing, all seeing, all believing Jasper! Bow before me and worship me for the god that I am, weakling!" he called out in a voice vaguely reminiscent of a late night television pastor.

I giggled at him and wagged my finger in his direction.

"You may be pretty darn smart, but you're certainly not all knowing. And hell will freeze over before I bow before you, Mr. 'I can't watch _Blair Witch_ without jumping!'" I giggled some more.

Jasper clutched at his heart again.

"Twice in a night, Bee! You wound me so! And anyways, I think you're daring me again. How about we curl up on the sofa, break into that six pack of beer you brought home and I'll prove you wrong on that last bit," he said.

"But I thought you have work in the morning?" I asked.

It was Jasper's turn to shrug this time.

"Eh, yeah I do. But how much brain power does it take to catalog beads of the Hopi Indians? I'll tell you how much: not much at all. So let's throw back a few and I'll prove to you that I'm man enough not to jump at the scary parts of this horrendous movie of yours," he said enthusiastically and motioned towards the door.

I smiled at him. "Sounds like a plan to me."

On the way out, Jasper bumped his shoulder into mine.

"So you're going back, right? You seem a lot happier tonight too, Bee. Less likely to bite my head off for leaving the seat up in the bathroom," he asked quietly.

I groaned.

"Did I really do that?"

He nodded glumly and waved me off.

"Last week you did once, but no big deal, Bee. I know how you are sometimes when you're stressed and how focused you get. Don't worry about it."

I groaned again and rubbed my eyes with my hands.

"Damn, Jay. I didn't realize how shitty I've been. I really am sorry about all that. I swear I'm starting to feel better and I think I might be working up some good writing soon enough here."

Jasper clapped his hand over my shoulder and I could feel the heat of his big palm through my shirt.

"Seriously, Bee. Don't worry about it. Just debut this book at the top of the New York Times Bestseller and we'll call it even, okay?" he chuckled.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Set the bar high enough for me?"

He laughed a bit harder.

"What? I know you can do it."

We spent the rest of the night clutching at each other between playing the Blair Witch Drinking game. I, of course, got a lot more shit-faced than Jasper did though he jumped more. Yeah, turns out he couldn't watch it without jumping.

I woke up the next morning feeling somewhat like death warmed over and regretting challenging Jasper. I glared at him as he brought some coffee into my bedroom for me, flicking him off as he walked away chuckling.

After several cups of coffee and a desperately needed shower, I felt something comparable to human and thought about seeing if I could bust out some of my writing today.

The problem was that as soon as I sat down at my now clean desk my brain just simply shut down. I must have stared at the blank sheet of paper for a good thirty minutes before I sighed and pushed my chair back.

Stupid writer's block. Always hits at the wrong moment and just when I thought I could perhaps accomplish something today.

I looked over and saw the pamphlet for the art museum tucked under a stack of papers.

Sighing I took it out and turned it over in my hands.

The stark white walls in the pictures called to me, luring me back to the quiet hallways and dimly lit galleries.

I thought about the gallery I'd spent the most time in. The EC gallery. The proud blonde woman in the painting and the way I could almost see something behind her eyes as the painter had portrayed her. It took a lot of talent to make that kind of emotion come across.

Sighing, I knew what I had to do. I had to go back to the museum and see if I could figure out how the artist did that. Learn how to convey emotion with a mere brushstroke, or in my case a few words.

Maybe by examining how another creative person lived and breathed their craft I could push past by own stumbling blocks.

By looking at this artist's works, I also in a way felt I knew a bit about him. He obviously was very sensitive to those around him and could pick up on the subtle nuances of human nature. It took a lot to read into someone the things he clearly saw in his subjects.

In a way I identified with that ability. As a writer it was my job to examine character's motives and try my best to convey them to my reader. I didn't necessarily have to explain everything, but I had to be able to effectively communicate all that the reader needed to know while still maintaining an air of mysteriousness around my characters. That's what made for good writing. Stories that were up for interpretation. Stories that made the reader think and question who they were as a person and how the world around them operated. That's what made a good author, plain and simple.

Words are mere words until a writer takes them and molds them into something beautiful.

I packed up my notebook in my purse and made the trek across the city to the museum, the stone lions welcoming me back as I climbed the stairs.

I bought my ticket and slipped in the exhibits, this time wandering around a bit more. I knew ultimately I would end up right back at the same small gallery in the back corner of the museum, but I wanted to take my time. The sculptures took me about forty five minutes to go through and I saw some of the more famous paintings as well.

I could practically hear the whispering of the small gallery calling to me though and after just over ninety minutes in the museum I finally succumbed to it's calls and found my way back to it's glass doors.

The same sweet older guard was at the door and he smiled at me as he saw me go in.

A few people were mulling around the exhibit as I settled myself into the cushy couch in the center. I angled myself differently today, focusing on a smaller painting of a woman with brown hair and deep soulful eyes that practically begged me to know her. I could hear her talking to me from the canvas, telling me her life story.

It wasn't long before I found myself weaving a story about her daily life and quietly slipped my notebook from my purse and grabbing a pen as well.

Hours upon hours went by as people filtered in around me while my pen continued to flow from line to line. I don't know what it was about that particular painting that was inspiring me to write. Maybe it was the female subject. Maybe it was the passion she was trying to convey to me. Maybe it was something else all together.

And maybe it was being in this place surrounded by creativity.

Art had a way of doing that to other artists. The mediums could be vastly different, but creativity feeds creativity.

Here, in this bastion of creativity, I had seemingly found something to write about.

The day slipped by before I knew it and the guard was tapping me on the shoulder telling me it was time to close up the museum.

He chuckled when he saw my notebook filled with my scrawlings.

"Writer?" he asked and inclined his head towards the notebook.

"I guess you could say that," I answered.

"This place has a way of doing that to people. You know, inspiring. I've seen it a lot in my time here," he said.

I smiled and walked towards the exit.

"So am I going to see you tomorrow as well, Miss …" he said.

"Bella," answered.

"You coming tomorrow as well, Miss Bella?" the guard inquired.

I looked back at the glass doors to the little gallery and the answer that came to me was fairly obvious and easy.

"I think I will. This place is doing something to me. Something good," I smiled.

The guard smiled back at me and I felt warmed from his calm presence.

"I think I'll like having you around. You're a nice one," he answered. He winked at me before continuing. "And you're pretty easy on the eyes too if you ask me."

I felt the blush rising up in my cheeks as I bid him farewell and walked back out into the evening streets of Chicago.

I turned around and looked at the tall marble columns of the Art Institute.

This place was doing something good for me.

It was helping me bring my mojo back.


	4. Chapter 4: Hangover Hell

**A/N: Sorry if there are typos in this. It's mega late and I'm posting this with little more than a brief read through. I'll reread in the morning and fix any errors I find. **

**The Inspiration**

**Chapter 4: Hangover Hell**

**Edward**

As I woke up, my head felt like there was a convoy of eighteen wheeler semi trucks rolling through with their horns blaring full blast. What the hell did I do last night?

Oh yeah.

I cracked my eyes open and came face to face with the empty bottle of Jack on the coffee table in front of the couch I was laying on. The couch that was too damn short for my long ass legs and I probably was going to be a massive crunch of stiff joints the minute I attempted any type of movement.

My cell phone started shrieking somewhere in the massive pile of crap on the table and holy shit if it wasn't the most annoyingly loud and shrill noise ever. I knew there was absolutely no way I was going to find it in time to pick it up and there sure as hell was no way I was going to be in any shape to answer a phone call anytime soon either thanks to the regiment of army soldiers marching through my fucking head.

Remind me not to crack a new bottle and finish it in one night again, brainiac. Who's the dumbshit who thought it would be a great idea to get shit-faced last night?

_Shut up, idiot. There was that one time I was trashed and painted like some idiot savant._

Only problem was that last night I'd just gotten trashed and been an idiot, not the idiot savant I was looking to be.

Well, so much for that plan.

Color me moronic apparently.

I covered my throbbing ears with an expertly matched throw pillow from the couch and waited until the stupid ringing of my phone finally shut off.

Super. I can go back to sleep and forget all about this massive hangover from hell. No need to attempt work today considering there was probably no way I'd get anything accomplished. I made a feeble attempt at scanning my hungover mind for any appointments I had today and finding none that I could think of, relaxed into the couch.

I was out in no time.

I was having this freaking fantastic dream. There was this girl with sultry brown hair and deep brown eyes flashing in and out of my field of vision. Her smile was sweet and innocent, but I caught a look in her eyes that said more than any amount of words ever could.

Her breath on my neck. Her hands on my back. Random glimpses of creamy pale skin.

Fuck, it was so hot and she wasn't even naked.

"Eddie! I know you're in there! Get you're ass to the door, dipshit!" the brunette said, sounding surprisingly like …

"WAKE UP!"

Emmett.

Fucking Christ.

I groaned and opened up my eyes. I looked down and willed the morning wood to go away before I had to face the lumbering ox at the door.

Emmett's huge fist pounding on the door though was not making my still present headache any better.

I groaned as I threw myself off the couch, swaying a little on my feet and reminding myself again that Jack Daniels and a pizza, though tasty, did not make a dinner. The empty pizza box was still next to the couch and I stepped over it on my way to the door.

"This better be good," I grumbled and rubbed my probably red eyes.

I unlatched the chain on my big front door to my loft apartment and Emmett stood there looking like his usual million dollars in a suit he probably bought with commission from my last sale.

"About damn time, Eddie," he grinned at me, his dimples flashing.

"What do you want? And don't call me Eddie," I grumbled and scratched my abs right above my pants. Thankfully my erection had toned down thanks to my complete annoyance with being woken up from what was developing into a nice sex dream.

"Here to see how you're doing," Emmett said and pushed past me into my apartment.

I groaned again and shut the door behind him. No use trying to argue with him at this point. Might as well humor him and then kick his ass out so I can go back to doing whatever I should be doing but what in actuality I'm not doing.

Emmett flopped down on the couch I'd just vacated and glared at the empty liquor bottle on the table.

"Have a party last night?" he asked, looking around at the mess.

I headed towards the open kitchen to find myself some water and two very large, very strong painkillers. Maybe I could talk Emmett into some greasy diner food to tame the hangover. That always helped in college and I knew Emmett would never turn down a big stack of pancakes or French toast.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and finding two pills, I walked over to where Emmett was sitting, swallowed the pills and downed the entire bottle of water before easing myself into the large armchair next to the couch. Some Swedish brand that was stylish. The gay guy at the furniture store said it was hot or something so I threw a wad of cash at him and it was delivered the next day. I think I made his day.

"So I'll ask again, you have a party last night and not invite me?" Emmett said, sniffing the air.

"If by party you mean me, a bottle of Jack, a pizza, my hand and _Big Boobs Fourteen_ than yes, I had a party," I replied.

"Twelve was much better than fourteen. There was that one chick in fourteen that did that …" he started.

"That weird thing with her tongue while she was sucking the one dude. Yeah, it freaked me out too," I finished and cringed remembering the scene.

Emmett roared with laughter and threw his arm over the back of the couch.

"Dude, we gotta get you painting again. This whole creative block is not helping your dick. I'm pretty sure you're gonna rub it raw instead of actually getting some proper ass," he chuckled.

Emmett was fully aware of my tendency to sleep with my models, given that he constantly had eyes for Rosalie. Of course he also knew how much I didn't want to sleep with that one particular model. He couldn't believe that I was passing up the opportunity to sleep with "such a goddess." His words, not mine.

I shrugged and kicked at the pizza box with my foot.

"Yeah, I know. It just seems like nothing I do is working. I just stare at the fucking canvas, agonizing over every fucking stroke," I grimaced. Emmett snickered at my use of the word 'stroke.' "Oh grow up, dingleberry."

"What? I can't help it if I'm constantly in search of my next big one. I'm a guy in a big city full of hot ladies. And one particular hot lady who always seems to be trying to ride your junk, dude," he laughed.

"I still don't know how you can be interested in her, Emmett. She's a shrill harpy with lopsided boobs and an ego the size of a small third world country."

Emmett's smile only widened.

"They might be lopsided, but they're still damn nice. I wouldn't mind sucking on this nipples until she …" he started but stopped when I held up my hand.

"Emmett, I'm already hungover. Do you seriously want me to puke on your suit?"

His smile vanished and was replaced with a look of horror.

"Low blow, dude. Low blow. I paid more for this suit than most people spend on groceries in a month."

I chuckled at him. Always thinking about food.

"So why did you drop by unannounced this morning? I was perfectly content to wake up and bust a nut in the shower before you started banging on my door waking me up from a perfectly fine sex dream," I asked while massaging my temple.

They weren't exactly my morning plans, but they were close enough to what I probably would do.

Emmett shrugged, saying, "Seriously, Eds. Just wanted to see how my favorite artist is doing on this brisk fall day."

My eyes narrowed on him.

"Sure. You just wanted to see how my next painting's coming along, didn't you? Did Rosalie call you and squeal how I gave her a few days off?" I asked pointedly.

His eyes darted around the room before he grinned a little one sided grin.

"Maybe, but that's any good agent's responsibility. I mean how am I supposed to feed my children if you aren't selling stuff?" he responded.

"You don't have kids, Emmett."

"Yeah but I do have a premium YouPorn subscription I have to pay for somehow not to mention a quickly drying up collection of fine French Cognacs that needs restocking," he said looking very serious.

"Whatever, jerk. I'm sure you'll find a way to feed that nasty habit of yours. There's plenty of free porn on the internet if all else fails," I responded, running my hand through my hair.

"Bite your tongue, Edward Cullen!" Emmett said and mocked wagging his finger at me. "Emmett McCarty does not lower himself to free porn! How dare you speak such blasphemy!"

I laughed, my head reminding me exactly what I'd been doing the night before. "Ugghhh, fucking headache."

"Greasy diner food?" Emmett asked.

"Greasy diner food," I groaned.

"Best idea I've had in awhile. Just do me one favor, Edward?" he said, leaning forward on his elbows.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Take a shower, dude. You smell like ass and old pizza. You're stinking up my suit," Emmett laughed.

Thirty minutes, a shower and a short walk later, we were ordering from our favorite neighborhood diner, coincidentally named The Greasy Spoon. My pick was the peach crepes while Emmett went all out ordering most of the right side of the menu and probably driving his cholesterol through the roof in the process.

"Really though, Edward. Serious business talk time now. I'm gonna need you to at least put out some new pieces soon. There's been quiet whispers getting back to me that people are saying you're just some flash in the pan artist not worthy of that Institute gallery," Emmett said between shoveling forkfuls of French toast into his mouth.

I groaned and pushed a peach around on my plate.

"It's not that easy, Emmett. Do I wish I could just sit down and paint whatever crap I felt like, selling it for thousands? Sure. But would I feel comfortable with that? Hell no. I'm not the kind of artist that splashes some paint on the canvas and calls it art. I actually think about it and try to convey something," I said.

Emmett shrugged with a mouthful of eggs.

"Whatever, dude. But you gotta do something. And then there's that gallery opening coming up too. We have plenty of old stuff to fill the walls for that one, but it's gotta happen soon, buddy," he finally said.

"I know," I sighed. "I just feel … uninspired lately. I wake up, Rosalie comes over and strips off her clothes, and I just stare for thirty before giving up."

"And this is supposed to make me feel better for you? Dude, you have a hot naked chick sitting right in front of you and you're complaining about being uninspired? I could paint the fucking Sistine Chapel if I had her hot body in front of me," he laughed and shoveled more pancakes.

I glared at him and popped the last peach into my mouth. "Obviously you aren't an artist, Emmett, otherwise you'd understand what I'm going through here."

He laughed at me. "Of course I'm not an artist. Somebody has to find a way to sell those paintings. You're not exactly the best marketer of your talents so that leaves the task to your ever talented cousin."

"Eh, fair enough. You're pretty good at selling my stuff," I conceded.

"Damn straight. Your stinky ass would still be sitting back in art school if it weren't for my brilliant selling and marketing skills," Emmett said with a very serious face, his fork hovering in mid air.

"Shit, you act like I'm completely incompetent and unable to wipe my damn ass by myself without you," I growled at him.

Emmett was really starting to get under my skin today. Maybe it was the still lingering hangover and my already short fuse. Maybe it was I was frustrated with not being able to paint worth a shit. And maybe it was a combination of all of the above.

He put his fork down and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

"Sorry, Edward. Didn't mean to piss you off. You really are talented, man. I wouldn't be anywhere if you weren't so talented. I mean, I'm great and all, but having actual good artwork to pitch is a lot easier than selling crap. I wouldn't be sitting here in a $2000 suit if it weren't for you, man," Emmett said glumly.

Awww shit. If Emmett had a college degree in business, he had a Ph.D. in groveling. I'd seen it all my life when he'd break something at home and somehow find his way out of being grounded for a year. Like the time he backed his dad's brand new Audi into a brick mailbox. Uncle Bill turned five shades of purple and I swore he was going to rip Emmett's head off, but somehow he scraped by with a weeks worth of grounding and having to pay for some of the repair costs.

And hell if I was going to be able to resist Emmett when he pulled out his best grovel. No way, no how. It wasn't even worth a fight.

I waved him off with a flick of my wrist and Emmett's sullen expression turned into a wide grin.

"Thanks, man. I knew you'd chill out," he laughed.

"Make it up to me by picking up the tab. After all, you make your money off of me anyways," I chuckled.

After Emmett indeed paid the bill and I sucked down the last of my blood orange juice (a Greasy Spoon speciality), we left and walked around a bit in the busy midday streets.

"So what have you been doing these past few days with your freedom from the Blonde Hurricane?" Emmett asked with his hands in his pockets.

"Eh, this and that. Went down to the exhibit the first day. Wanted to see if everything was okay, which of course it was. There was some girl parked there on the couch just staring. Guard said she'd been there all day. I almost wanted to ask her why the heck she'd be just sitting there all day staring, but I thought better of it," I shrugged.

"So why didn't you?" he asked.

"Why didn't I what?"

"Ask her why she was in there so long?"

I stopped and looked at Emmett. His question was actually one that had kind of been plaguing me the past few days. Sure, my paintings were nice to look at and decorative and all that. But to sit and stare at them for hours? Why would anybody wand to do that?

I'd been told once that I had a talent for capturing a moment in a person's psyche with a paintbrush. A window into the soul almost.

Could that woman actually agree with that statement?

A part of me wanted to know.

Painting had always been for me a way to express myself. I'd always seen the world as a collection of colors, shades and shapes. Compositions. But I'd also seen it as something to be interpreted. Something to be captured for posterity.

"Earth to Eddie! Earth to Eddie!" Emmett said, waiving his hand in front of my face and bringing me out of my hazy thoughts.

My eyes narrowed on him and I growled, "Don't call me Eddie!"

"Oh psssshaw. You're too damn sensitive about little shit like that. Take a chill pill man and relax. Go get laid. Bust a nut. Go to your precious exhibit if that helps you relax. You're too wound up to get work done. Maybe that's your problem, man. Maybe you need a massage or something. I know this great place down on State that does great massages with this oil shit. My girl's name is Sheryl. You want me to call her and make you an appointment?" Emmett rambled.

But I wasn't paying any attention to him any more.

Mostly because I agreed.

I really needed to relax and take a load off. I'd been putting too much pressure on myself to find a way through this … whatever it was that was bothering me. And by doing so I'd only succeeded in shutting my talent off even more. Fuck, I couldn't even do a stick figure yesterday when I'd tried.

"Hey, Emmett man?" I said suddenly.

He was still rambling and stopped mid sentence.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"I think I'm taking off. You're right about that whole relaxing thing. And I think I have to figure out something in my head. You cool for the rest of the day?" I asked him.

"Sure, man. Take care of yourself and get some paint on those pretty little canvases of yours. Papa needs his porno," Emmett laughed and clapped me on the shoulder with his gigantic hand.

"Thanks, Emmett. Gotta run. Things to do!" I said quickly and started down the street towards my destination.

"No problemo, dude. Just don't forget the gallery opening!" Emmett called out from behind me.

I waved my hand over my back at him to acknowledge I'd heard and headed off towards the lake.

The granite steps and lions I nicknamed Stu and Leonard when I was eight loomed up quicker than I realized. The line was minimal today and Old Beatrice was at her usual post selling tickets.

"Hey, Bea. How's my pretty lady doing today?" I said passing by her.

"Good, Edward. Yourself?" she asked and I saw the faint blush pass across her cheeks.

"Doing better now. Working through something," I grinned at her.

She smiled that half smile of hers as I waked away towards my gallery.

The comforting quiet of the museum quickly enveloped me back into its loving embrace and I instantly began to feel more relaxed. There was just something about this place that did it to me. I felt so at home here more so than probably anywhere else on the planet, even my parent's house.

In this place with its white walls and hardwood floors, I was at home. I was at peace.

My breathing evened out and my heart rate dropped as this new calm settled over me. There really was something to all that hullabaloo Emmett was rattling off before. Well, not the busting a nut bit even though my balls were aching for a good workout.

_Soon enough, buddy. We'll just relax a bit and then go home and rub one out to that one video I'd bookmarked on my computer last night. _

Jerry was standing in his normal spot and did the characteristic man nod to me as I breezed past, this time quietly pushing the glass doors open and taking a good look around in my gallery.

All the pictures were in the same place. The lights aimed properly. There was simply nothing out of the ordinary.

Except there was.

Sitting on that same couch in that same position was that same girl.

Mahogany hair with soft waves and glints of copper from the overhead lights. She was bent over something in her lap and I couldn't see her face.

All the questions I had earlier came roaring back into my thoughts. Why would someone just sit here? What could be so damn interesting about my paintings that it would make someone stop what they were doing and take so much time out of their day?

And what the hell was she doing anyways just sitting here?

But then another thought struck me. One so plainly obvious I almost chuckled at it.

Why did she come back here of all places?

There were so many other more famous and great paintings in this place. I was hardly worthy to hang on the walls as Monet and the others, though somehow the museum had thought so.

So why here? Why me? Why my paintings above all else?

The woman faintly turned her head in my direction and I caught a glimpse of her mouth. She was biting her lip while doing whatever she was doing and I saw a slight peek at her pink tongue between her lips as she chewed on her lips.

And for some strange odd reason, my aching dick was suddenly hard. I mean, I'd always somewhat had an oral fixation on women's mouths as pretty much any sane guy would, but why … now?

She turned again towards me and her dark eyelashes fanned out on her creamy pale cheeks.

_Oh fuck me slowly._

I was definitely going to be needing to rub it out later because she was … simply beautiful. Sexy and mysterious. Innocent and wholesome. Simple and yet complex at the same time. Her face was slightly oval shape and her nose was perfectly sloping. She had that cleft in her upper lip that I loved on women, and especially loved dipping my tongue into when I kissed them.

A lock of her hair fell out from behind her ear and I watched as she gently pushed it back into place. Even her graceful fingers I found sexy.

She exuded this quiet sensuality I loved in women. Not the cocky ego Rosalie had, but more a sedate confidence that showed through with her body movements.

She licked her lips and I swear to god I almost blew my load in my pants right there.

_Down boy, seriously Dude. Down! Just give me a few minutes and I'll take care of you_.

And the funniest thing was that everything about her called to me. Lured me in. Made me want to take her. To possess her. To have her and never let her go. But also protect her. I sensed this naivety about the world from just looking at her.

_Talk to her, you idiot! Put the staff at half mast and go fucking talk to her!_

I willed away my hard on as best I could, swallowing and finding my throat dry as a bone.

Geeze, was I nervous?

I never got nervous. I was Edward fucking Cullen, claimer of panties, seducer of women, famous artist and dead fucking sexy if I must say so myself.

And I was fucking nervous to go over and talk to a woman in my gallery holding my artwork.

This little tiny voice in the back of my head sprang up where it had never been before, telling me to be careful about this. Take my time. Play it differently. Don't put on the usual song and dance to get her clothes off and get her on her back.

So what was my plan?

Fuck if I know.

Well, I could do one thing. Probably not exactly the smartest thing, but it was certainly something.

My usual show was to walk right up to a hot chick and say something about how I was a famous painter and asking her if she'd ever been painted. My success rate was actually rather good with that line even though you'd think I'd get more slaps and denials than kisses and acceptances. The good looks probably helped a bit.

So I mean, I guess I could not do that.

Couldn't I?

_Sure, dude. Do whatever you want, but do something. You have a hot chick in your gallery who just happens to be here when you are and you're standing here looking like a complete moron_.

Fair enough.

Sounds like a decent plan to me.

I gulped the lump that had formed in my throat and quietly made my way over to the girl on the couch.

Why did I feel like I was walking towards destiny?


	5. Chapter 5: So What If I'm a Stalker

**The Inspiration **

**Chapter 5: So What If I'm a Stalker**

**Edward**

_Why did it feel like I was walking towards destiny? _

She just sat there.

On that small little couch in the middle of my gallery.

So bright.

So shiny.

So shimmery.

My body was telling me to take, to possess, to own, to claim her, to make her mine. And yet my mind was telling me a completely different story. My brain was telling me that there was something special about this woman. Her eyes so delicate and deep lured me and whispered secrets straight to my heart.

The Dude was shouting for release, painfully hard in my pants, and I ached to stick my hand in my pants and jerk off right then and there. There were three things better though than anything my hand could deliver.

All three of them this girl possessed.

I'll give you three guesses.

Give up?

Okay, I'll tell you.

Her hands. Her mouth. Her pussy.

In that ascending order of course.

But no. I couldn't just walk right up to her and deliver some cheesy line that I'd used on a million other shanky girls looking for a hard fuck and a chance to be famous.

I simply had nothing in my repertoire that would do this shiny example of women justice.

The Dude was leering at her through the zipper in my pants, pointing in her direction and begging for whatever I could deliver. Fuck, he even wanted to be within ten feet of her just to smell her and have a visual for the inevitable spank session later in the shower or in my bed.

I was torn between three options.

Option #1: Pull some jerky classic guy crap and have some cheesy pick up line roll off my tongue only to be either slapped or otherwise turned down completely.

Option #2: Shyly introduce myself and make small talk about some random shit and actually be a semi nice guy for once.

Option #3 (and perhaps the least … enjoyable option): Do absolutely nothing. Ignore the fire coursing through my veins and simply walk away in search of easier tail and some tissue time with the latest copy of _Debbie Does Dallas_ running in the background on my television.

Fuck.

Those were hard options.

_No, idiot. Your cock is hard. Me, The Dude. Come on, lame-o! I'm fucking suffering here,_ The Dude cried from my pants.

Why is life so difficult?

Oh yeah, I know. Because it's fucking life. Life isn't easy. It's not glorious. There are no winners, only losers. In the end we all die, whether we've lived well or not.

And all the while through my mental manipulating this … angel in front of me just kept being perfect in the face of my struggle with indecision.

She seemed so wonderful, so majestic, so simply beautiful that I couldn't look away from her. Everything about her lured me in. Her look, her smile, the faint smell of her even from a distance.

I wanted nothing more than to know her. To truly and simply know her. Down to the deepest parts of her soul. I wanted to know what made her tick and what made her wake up in the morning.

_It's official, dipshit. You've lost your nuts and grown ovaries._

"Shut up," I hissed to myself.

I was simply paralyzed by indecision. On the border of action and inaction, movement and no movement.

Go forward and possibly fuck up what could be the best thing that's happened to me in awhile or keep to myself and maintain the status quo in both our lives.

Precious seconds ticked by while my body edged me forward but my mind held me back. I probably looked like a complete and utter fucktard just standing there, mouth open agape. I knew I should move, should do anything except what I was or wasn't doing, but I couldn't.

Frozen in my spot.

Thankfully that's what a lot of people did in an art museum so I bet I probably didn't look that stupid standing off to the side of the entrance in the small white-walled gallery.

I'm sure she could hear the thunderous beating of my heart in my chest.

I hadn't heard it that loud in quite some time.

Briefly I wondered exactly what that meant. If this was some sign. Some gift from the heavens. Some twist of fate or destiny or any of that other girly crap most people with a cock didn't put stock in.

Too bad I didn't believe in heaven.

Fuck.

Do something, you tool.

The girl continued as if I didn't even exist. Her head went back down and more hair fell across her face, shielding it from me like a veil. I had a brief flash in my head of the same girl with a white veil covering her face and I had to shake the image free. Such a random image to have flash across my mind so suddenly.

Her hand moved and I craned my neck to see what she was doing.

Through the curtain of her hair I glimpsed her bite her lip gently and I softly moaned to myself. Fuck, she was beautiful.

And I just … couldn't. I couldn't walk up to her and throw some crap line at her. I couldn't walk up and be nice. I couldn't fucking sully that beauty barely simmering below the surface of her, just waiting to get out.

Sure, I wanted nothing more than to bury my face between her breasts and explore every inch of her body with my hands and tongue, but somehow that all seemed so shady and sordid. This was a girl who deserved so much more.

She deserved to be worshiped for the goddess that she was.

So I took the coward's way out.

I chose option #3.

I walked away.

Well, technically I backed away, my soft steps barely registering in the quiet museum.

Jerry looked at me like I had three heads when I came out of the gallery. I remember him asking me something about if I was okay and perhaps I should get a drink or something. I think I placated him and said something about feeling a cold coming on or something.

He made small talk about his youngest daughter and how she was having her first kid, but it barely registered in my head. I "ooh"ed and "ahh"ed at appropriate moments and I think he thought I was actually participating in the conversation when in actuality my eyes were trained through the glass doors on Couch Girl.

Yeah, I'd named her already.

It's not like I knew her actual name.

No, I was too fucking chicken to actually talk to her and that's why I didn't know her name.

"You know, this is her third day in a row being here," Jerry said offhand and my head snapped towards him.

"What?" I asked in response.

"She's been here the last two days. Always does the same thing. Curls up on that couch in there and writes all day." Jerry scratched at his cheek and my stomach churned unexpectedly.

So she's a writer.

That's new.

"I'd put money on her being here tomorrow too. I think she likes your pictures, Edward," the guard remarked.

I nodded quietly and my wide open mouth shut with an audible clack of teeth on teeth.

It was possibly the hardest thing I'd ever done walking out of that museum knowing she was in there, in my gallery looking at my paintings and admiring my work.

In the span of possibly twenty minutes I'd cut my nuts off and become the world's largest drama queen and hyperbole user. Seriously.

Thankfully my nuts were back in working order by the time I climbed into the shower that night and soaped up my dick. Thirty minutes and several mind numbing wanks later, I was spent and tired but still aching for more.

My perverted mind came up with every imaginable position I could have the girl in. On her knees sucking me off. Bent over that expensive Swedish couch. Spread each on my bed. On her hands and knees on the same bed. Fuck, I even threw in tying her to the bed for good measure.

The next morning I woke up with painful morning wood and repeated the same process during my morning shower, this time picturing fucking her up against my apartment door and on top of my kitchen counter.

Needless to say my cock was pretty tender when I got out of the shower. I had to gently dry The Dude off so I didn't think of Couch Girl and get hard all over again. He was in no shape for any more use today. I'd probably came ten times in the last twelve hours and still wanted more.

Always more.

I was learning that about myself.

I always wanted more.

More fame.

More girls.

More this.

More that.

But suddenly and without warning, I only wanted one thing.

To know her.

To know her completely and without pretense. Without all the crap surrounding the cult of EC and not have to put on airs as some big (almost) famous painter.

But the question was this: was Edward Cullen as good as EC?

I'd always thought they were one on the same. Big and macho. Ready for anything.

And yet, I was questioning that.

My suave demeanor may have gotten me all the tail I wanted in the past, but was it good enough for her?

I knew absolutely nothing about her other than she was fucking gorgeous and that she was a writer.

Okay three things.

She was more than likely going to be right back where I'd found her the previous day, sitting in my gallery and doing whatever the hell writers do.

And like any other creepy stalker type I was lured back to the place I'd last seen her.

I lurked around the entrance to my gallery for most of the day, making small talk with Jerry while keeping an eye on Couch Girl. I'm pretty sure he picked up on me being distracted, but thankfully he didn't say anything or ask me why I was so not with it.

I jacked off in bed that night, my spunk flying all over the crumpled sheets before I could contain it with a tissue.

Back to the museum the next day. It was Jerry's day off so I had to make myself look busy. I chatted with the other guard but he wasn't nearly as conversational as Jerry. And besides, I think he thought I was there to pick up a small child to molest even though I clearly wasn't.

I had my sights set on an older, more shapely target.

And still though, I couldn't bring myself to actually grow enough balls to talk to her. You'd think the great dropper of panties Edward Cullen would be more of a man than I was at the moment, but sadly no. I'd reverted back to my shy high school tendencies.

I'd spent the four years of high school hiding in the art room most of the time. I'd had braces and a horrible cowlick I'd tried to tame each morning, failing miserably each time. Turns out all I needed to do was grow my hair down to my chin for that cowlick to subside. Who knew.

It wasn't until college that I adopted my usual come hither attitude, thanks to forcing myself to open up and finally talk to girls. Emmett had laughed his ass off at me when I'd asked him for pointers to pick up a chick, but he'd never had a problem so as much as I hated being berated for being so stupid I really did appreciate his pointers.

I thought I'd perfected my bad boy, panty dropping demeanor until now.

This one woman ruined it all for me.

Christ.

Just stick a bra on me and call me Edwina.

I repeated my watching, wanking, watching, wanking routine for four days.

It was official.

I was a complete and utter loser for having no guts.

I'd gotten absolutely no work done on any painting and I was no closer to actually working up the balls to talk to Couch Girl. I'd imagined her in every possible sexual position I could think of, even going as far as to Google "Kama Sutra" to find more spank bank material. Tied up, tied down, naked, clothed, costumed, etc. I'd done it all. "She'd" done it all.

And my fucking brain was now screaming at me that I was a disgusting perv for practically stalking this girl and doing horrible, dirty things to her in my head. I was the lowest of the low. Occupying the fifth ring of Hell for what I was doing.

Each day moved me a little further away from her and made me a little less worthy of her.

I'd almost come to the conclusion that I wasn't ever going to actually talk to her.

Pathetic, right?

But Couch Girl had different ideas.

It was Thursday, four days before the gallery opening Emmett was constantly reminding me about, when things changed.

I was on my normal stalking mission outside the gallery when I had to take a piss. For some stupid reason there was a line for the men's bathroom and it took me longer than usual to get back. Jerry was doing his rounds and I glanced in the gallery to see Couch Girl to find the spot she'd been occupying the past seven days empty.

Panic surged in my chest and my heart started beating faster.

What if she'd caught me and left?

What if she never came back?

What if …

A thousand what ifs bolted through my head and I seriously thought I was about to hyperventilate from a panic attack. I needed air and I needed it quickly.

I turned suddenly to get the fuck out of dodge and ran square into a much smaller warm body.

Breasts pressed against my stomach and a face pressed into my sternum.

The Dude instantly got hard.

Fucking Dude. Always popping up at the worst moment.

I opened my eyes that had instinctually closed upon the initial impact and found I was looking down at the same glossy brown hair I'd practically memorized every detail of for the past five days.

_Oh fuck me slowly and gently._

You know how I said I didn't believe in fate? Well suddenly I did and suddenly I realized it was playing a cruel, if somewhat hilarious joke on me.

It was Couch Girl in the flesh.

In my arms.

Breasts pressed into my body and skin so close to my own.

The Dude cried out louder than ever before.

_Claim! Take! Fuck! Own! Possess! _

He wanted me to do something quickly.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! Shit, I'm so clumsy sometimes," Couch Girl said with her head down. I looked down to the ground and she'd dropped a notebook she'd been holding.

I went to crouch down and get it for her, but apparently she had the same idea and did the same. Our heads collided and for a brief second our noses grazed against each other.

A shiver ran through me, but not because I was cold. It was a completely foreign sensation and one I'd never experienced. I had absolutely no idea what it meant.

I straightened back up and stuck out the notebook to her.

"Here's your notebook," I mumbled.

A blush bloomed across her cheeks, the slight pink tone standing out against her alabaster skin. My mind worked overtime to think how I'd mix the paints to concoct a similar color to put on canvas.

The corner of her mouth turned up and she looked up at me through her dark eyelashes.

"Thanks, Stalker Boy," she said and her eyes widened immeasurably.

The blush that was slight before got even redder this time spreading down her neck and creeping towards the neckline of her navy shirt.

Obviously she hadn't intended to say the last part given that she looked absolutely horrified.

She looked away from me and shook her head a few times.

"Shit shit shit," she mumbled almost too low for me to hear.

I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped me. She shoved the notebook in her incredibly oversized bag and quickly covered her face with her hands. I slapped my hand across my face to stifle the laughter and she peeked at me through her fingers.

When I felt I could control myself, I took my hand away from my mouth and put it awkwardly in my pants pickets, trying to hide the huge hard on I was currently sporting. Fucking loose pants. I had to be all arty and shit and get the loose ones.

"So do you work here or something?" she quietly asked.

She'd pulled her fingers down and those big brown doe eyes were staring at me inquisitively. And she was biting her lip again. Dammit. I mentally pleaded with her to stop doing that or else I couldn't be responsible for my next actions. More than likely I'd throw her down on the nearest horizontal surface and hump her leg like a dog in heat.

"Um, no," I mumbled, confused why she'd ask such a question.

"It's just … I see you here all the time and you're always around and you seem to like this area and I mean I see you all the time and you know," she rambled and her blush started to fade a little bit on her neck, leaving behind slightly red blotched skin.

"Oh, uh well …" I muttered. Did I dare tell her I was practically stalking her every move in my gallery? Yeah, probably not. "Well, I really like art."

_Good one, moron. You're in a fucking art museum. Just call you Captain Obvious._

"Me too," she smiled softly and her eyes lit up a bit.

"So you come here often?" I asked, trying to fill the conversation and keep her smiling and talking.

A lock of her hair fell forward and every cell in me ached to reach out and sweep it back for her, but somehow I managed to hold back. Considering she'd just moments earlier had her face about six inches from my dick, my control was surprisingly good.

"Yeah, a friend recommended this place and he's usually right about stuff so I decided to see what I could find," she said with a gentle lilt to her voice.

She didn't have that typical hard Chicago edge to her voice and it made me wonder where she was originally from. There was no way she was originally from the area. Yet another mystery of Couch Girl.

"Sounds like you have a smart friend," I chuckled.

She laughed with me and it was a sound that made my heart beat a little faster.

"He likes to think he's pretty smart. Always reminding me of that fact," she said and she smiled a little smile that made me think there was more to what she was saying.

I wanted to learn what it was.

There was a pause then and even though my usual line was on the tip of my tongue still, it somehow didn't spew forth. Thankfully. Despite the initial unusual way we'd met, things between Couch Girl and me were going fairly well.

Which reminded me of one fact.

"So do you have a name or are you as mysterious as that smile of yours?" I asked her.

The blush again crept across her cheeks and I mentally high fived myself for a job well done. I'd successfully managed to sound suave while still sounding innocent.

"Bella," she said sweetly and tucked the stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Even her name was beautiful. Appropriate given the Italian translation of the word. I'd managed to pick up enough of the language along the way during my studies of art history to not be a complete blundering idiot with the language.

"Bella," I said, rolling her name around my mouth and off my tongue. I'll admit, it sounded great echoing through my head. And it sure as hell was doing something to my dick.

"And does Stalker Boy have a name or should I keep embarrassing myself by referring to you as Stalker Boy?" she asked in return, her eyes lighting up.

"No embarrassment needed," I chuckled.

"Good cause I was hoping I could limit my embarrassing moments to only two today. Though I can't promise I won't embarrass myself more. I have a strong tendency to fall over flat surfaces sometimes so don't be surprised if I just face-plant out of the blue."

She smiled and her teeth were white and straight, reminding me of how great her mouth was and how many times I'd pictured it wrapped around my cock.

_I'm begging you! _The Dude said.

I beat him back into submission and did my best to ignore his fitful pleas for relief.

"So your name?" she reminded me.

Something deep in the back of my head warned me to not show off my name. To not show off that she'd been sitting in my gallery for the past however many days. On the other hand I didn't use my full name so it was possible she wouldn't put two and two together, but that voice in my head also told me not to take a chance with her.

"Edward," I said swiftly, foregoing my last name.

She hadn't used hers, so I guess I didn't have to use mine either.

I could remotely justify it that way. Tit for tat, I guess.

Mmmmm tits.

She smiled sweetly again at me and I returned it with my own smile, though not yet pulling out the big guns panty dropper smile.

Like I said, I wanted to do something different.

She nodded her head toward my gallery and said, "Have you seen this guy's stuff? I really like it. I've been sitting in here a lot lately."

A lot was an understatement. She practically lived in there. I was surprised I didn't find a cot for her to sleep on in there if the museum had let her set one up.

"Uh, yeah I think so. It's pretty good stuff," I answered.

Okay, so that wasn't technically a lie. I'd seen my own stuff but I also didn't want to say right away that it had been me that had painted everything she'd been so intently studying the past few days.

No use putting the horse before the cart.

Once again my head warned me to go slowly and carefully. Watch what I said and not act like a complete ass just looking for a quick lay.

She motioned toward the doors and stepped around me to go back inside the gallery, her scent hitting me in the process and making me hard all over again. Fucking cock was going to be the death of me.

"Not now," I hissed as quietly as I could and The Dude decided to ignore me.

I shuffled in behind her and watched as she settled back on what I now considered her couch, patting the spot beside her.

Where before my feet had refused to carry me to the couch to talk to her, this time they carried me forward to settle in beside her. It was a small couch and we were practically shoulder to shoulder, the warmth of our bodies probably felt by the both.

"So tell me why you like this guy's work," I said after a quiet moment of enjoying just sitting there.

She grinned and I felt my stomach leap for her.

I wanted to listen to her, I really did. But the problem was the moment she started talking and waving her hands around, I got lost in her voice. I watched her mouth move and sound come out, but none of the words registered in my head.

Every now and then I caught a quick "technique," "glimpse" or "depth," but most of it was just the sound of her voice.

The perv in me also liked that whenever she waved her hand her boobs jiggled.

That certainly didn't hurt.

I don't know how much time passed while I listened to her, and honestly it didn't really matter that much.

Why?

Because Couch Girl was talking tome and I hadn't made a complete ass of myself.

Hope dawned deep in my chest, making me think thoughts I hadn't dared to think before.

That voice deep in the back of my head praised me.

_Good boy. Go slow, Edward. She's not someone you want to lose._

And the truth was … that voice was right.

I didn't want to lose her.


	6. Chapter 6: Call Me the Queen of Awkward

**A/N: Okay, I'll be straight up. This chapter feels weird to me. I had a hard time writing it. I hope it doesn't disappoint. After being so deep in with The Dude, I had a hard time transitioning back to Bella. **

**On another note, I am this week's guest on the Temptation Twilight podcast. Episode 18. Head on over via the link in my profile under "Notables and Quotables" to hear the gals and I chat about the rise in all things Jasper related. Or find it at temptationtwilight [dot] blogspot [dot] com. **

**The Inspiration**

**Chapter 6: Call Me the Queen of Awkward**

**Bella**

I found myself going back to the museum pretty much every day after that first day back and my sudden writing spurt. The fourth time I showed up at the ticket booth, the kind older woman there proposed that I get a year pass instead of daily entrance tickets every time I came.

She explained the various benefits of being a "member" as they're called. The price was $80, but seeing as how I already had spent $54 just on entrance fees in three days, I figured that it was a worthy expenditure.

I'll admit the prospect of being able to come to the museum whenever I wanted actually kind of thrilled me. I'd always been somewhat of a nerd growing up, something Jasper teased me incessantly about. When most kids were out riding bikes or playing hide and seek, he was much more likely to find me curled in the quiet alcove overlooking my front yard with my nose buried in a book.

My favorites were constantly changing, but tended to lean towards the traditional literature route. I had shelves full of Shakespeare and Austen. I could probably quote some of them word for word given the opportunity.

Jasper constantly ribbed me about my book obsession. Well, that is until I wrote my own and it was published. Then he just accepted I was a full fledged "bookie" and a lost cause. And it also helped I was completely paying the rent on our apartment. Jasper chipped in on groceries and utilities, but all in all I was paying a grand majority of our expenses.

He joked me that he was a nicely "kept" man, even without the benefits of such. He was definitely not getting any tail from me. I could count the number of times I'd thought about Jasper in any way other than my best friend or practically even my brother. Exactly three times. All three of which involved large amounts of liquor which made me particularly … excitable.

Yet another thing Jasper teased me about.

I swear, that guy could find the smallest thing and tease me about it for days.

He was even teasing me about going back to the museum over and over even though it was his idea in the first place to return. That was just Jasper's way. He made cute comments as we were making dinner how it took him being right for me to realize that I just needed to get out on the world to be able to find some inspiration to write again.

So of course I sighed and agreed with him. Which commenced the teasing.

I showed him the few pages I'd filled with my writings that day, and he'd skimmed them. Jasper did that sometimes. He wasn't great at grammar or style stuff, but he had a pretty good sense for what was eye-catching and interesting. And the best part was he'd tell me straight up if what I'd written was complete crap.

Jasper was never one to mince words when it came right down to it, thankfully.

I believe his assessment of my first attempts at solid writing were something like this: "Well, Bells. It's not crap." Translating from Jasper-speak, it meant that he liked it and thought I should continue.

That's how I ended up going back and back to the museum. A little nudge here, and I was off and going.

I'd already decided I was dedicating this next book to Jasper.

The third day I spent at the museum I did pretty much the same thing I'd done the previous day. I sat and wrote on the couch, curled up in the center of the gallery surrounded by someone else's works and brilliance.

The fourth day was pretty much the same.

As was the fifth.

The sixth day I saw someone I'd seen a few times over the past couple days. He was tall-ish, maybe just over six feet. His hair was a coppery shade and fairly long for my usual taste, falling around his chin. And man … he was a skinny drink of water. Bundled up in his coat I could even tell he was willowy.

I spotted him a few times almost lurking around the door to the gallery and there was even a few times I could have sworn he was looking right at me before he turned away and the feeling dissipated. Normally this feeling would have creeped me out and sent me scurrying for broad daylight, but I didn't get the crazy vibe from him.

It almost felt … normal … to think that he was looking at me. Strange, huh?

I couldn't place it how I felt and why I felt that way, but it didn't worry me as much as it probably would have under different circumstances.

And it wasn't like he was always there. I usually got to the museum and peeked around a bit, and those times I didn't see him.

I told myself that he probably worked at the museum as some type of tour guide or restorer or something. He gave off a bit of an arty vibe and made me think he did something creatively, even if I had no idea.

His presence caught my eye on more than one occasion and sometimes I caught the edges of a smile on his face. The times I saw that smile of his gave me a tingly, warm feeling in the pit of my stomach that inevitably set of a huge blush.

Jokingly, I started referring to him as "Stalker Boy" in my head, though I didn't actually believe for a second he was stalking me in the strictest sense. It's just that he was always around. It made me laugh how much I saw him.

Between Jasper's work and my trips to the art museum I was seeing more of Stalker Boy and the guard Jerry than I was my own roommate and best friend for life.

All through my time at the museum though, I was actually being very productive. My writing was coming along nicely and I had worked through several plot kinks I had been having trouble with. I couldn't reconcile some of my character's actions with her supposed motivation and I spent quite a good deal of time thinking and working through the issues I was having.

I probably had close to three quarters or even a full notebook full of notes and scribblings that I wanted to incorporate into my story.

I was writing about a woman who had been the perfect wife and thought she had everything only to find out that her entire relationship had been built upon a lie perpetuated by her husband. He all but renounced her and threw her to the wolves.

The part that was difficult for me was I had never been in that position and I was having to put myself in my main character's shoes more than I normally would while writing. I had to think through what her reactions would be to stimuli she encountered throughout the story.

I was beginning to think that maybe I had bit off more than I could chew so to speak with my story. It wasn't much like anything I had written before and certainly well outside of my comfort zone.

But that's what I liked about writing. I frequently chose topics that were just a little bit of a stretch for me to write about. I wanted to grow as a writer and never be complacent with my talents. Stretching and reaching a little bit farther each time. That's where true talent growth came from.

The more I sat in the gallery and wrote, the more I saw Stalker Boy. And funny enough, I found myself actually looking for him. Looking forward to him.

I didn't know what his name was or anything about him beyond the fact that he seemed to perpetually be around the museum, so instead I created a little story about him in my head. You know, the writer part in me influenced that.

I made this convoluted story about how he was the son of a rich diplomat who chose to follow his artistic talents instead of following in his father's political footsteps. How he wanted to be his own man instead of always being in his father's shadow. His parents probably hated his long hair and tried to get him to cut it every chance they got. He resented always being expected to be perfect and in turn slacked off and became this person who hung around art museums instead of getting a 'real' job. Maybe he had a brother who was a stockbroker, the pride of the family. Family reunions were strained with his brother looking good in a three piece suit while he sat there in a tweed coat with a ratty scarf. He probably didn't wash his hair for several days before seeing his parents on purpose just to piss them off.

Inevitably the more details I created about Stalker Boy the more I would giggle to myself. Sure, it would have been just easier to go up to him and ask him his name, but when did I ever take the easy route? Okay, most of the time in hindsight, so I just chalked my reluctance to ask the cutie with the long hair and striking eyes about himself up to being horribly shy.

I had my fair of share conquests in college and I was no stranger to having the random hookup or two, but those guys were all ones I had met through mutual friends. Jasper's friend Chuck had been someone I'd had my eye on for awhile and it took me practically four months of blushing like crazy before Jasper had figured out I had a thing for his friend. After one date though, the reality wasn't anything like the fantasy I'd concocted in my head about Chuck. He was good in a group setting, but one on one? Geeze, he was a surefire way to fall asleep in my soup. Awkward and bumbling for sure. That turned out to be one of those dates I had Jasper rescue me from halfway through, calling to say that he desperately needed help with writing some paper that was due in the morning when I knew for a fact there was no such paper. Let's just say thank god for the early introduction of text messaging. Saved my bored ass any number of times.

Each day I'd gather up my stuff in my bag and head off to the museum, secretly hoping I'd see Stalker Boy. Four days after I first got my good glimpse of him, I had the most embarrassing dream about him.

Why was it embarrassing?

Okay, I confess.

I had a massively erotic sex dream about Stalker Boy. I don't remember a lot of it except that I woke up so horny and wet that my hand inevitably strayed underneath my pajama shorts and it hadn't taken me long before I was panting and moaning. Worse yet, I think Jasper heard me. How embarrassing is that? It was one thing to hear your roommate having hot steamy sex, but it was quite another to hear your roommate wacking off, especially if said roommate was a girl.

That morning I just happened to catch Jasper in the kitchen making a cup of coffee goodness and he avoided my eyes, telling me that he had indeed heard my early morning touching session.

Much to my surprise though, he didn't say anything about it.

I almost expected him to say something horribly lewd, but when he didn't I promised myself that I would do something good for Christmas for him. Maybe find one of his favorite authors and get a book signed for him.

But that was one of the things that was great about Jasper. He knew when to tease and he knew when there was just some topics I wasn't comfortable with joking about. My sex dreams apparently were one of them.

So that day when I saw Stalker Boy I couldn't stop the bright red blush that came to my face. I'd had an explicit dream about a complete stranger, even one that I saw on a daily, if not hourly basis. In a way though, I felt like I knew a lot about him from the life story I'd fabricated even if it was completely false.

Around 3 p.m. I got up to visit the ladies room; Stalker Boy nowhere to be seen when I left the gallery. Maybe he had something to do in another part of the museum. Honestly I didn't think much of it.

When I got from my much needed bladder relief, Stalker Boy was peering into the gallery through the glass doors. Nervous energy just poured off of him in a way I hadn't seen from him probably ever. Even I, who was denser than dense when it came to reading people, could see it. He shifted from foot to foot and he was chewing on his fingernails, another habit I'd never seen him have.

Well, that was certainly odd, but it wasn't like I knew him so who was I to judge whatever was going on in his head?

I quietly walked up behind him, intent on darting around him and back into the gallery when he suddenly turned around and I ran square into his chest instead.

_I have the worst luck in the entire world sometimes. How embarrassing! _I thought with my nose wedged in his sternum.

But most other thought vanished from my head when I inhaled reflexively and took my first good whiff of his smell. Gah! He smelled so … delicious. A mixture of paint, beer and man. It was an odd combination and one that made me mentally scratch my head only to forget everything else and want to take another inhale.

As if having a sex dream about him wasn't embarrassing enough, I now wanted to sniff him like a bitch in heat. What the hell was going on with me?

_Say something, you idiot!_ my brain yelled at me.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! Shit, I'm so clumsy sometimes," I mumbled and dropped my eyes to see my notebook had dropped out of my hands in our collision. As I went to bend down to get it, Stalker Boy apparently had the same idea and our heads bumped together. I felt our noses brush against each other and the tingling I got in my stomach thinking about him switched to a wholly different place in my body.

Fucking hormones. The whole area between my legs started tingling and getting warm.

I really, really needed to get some sex if barely brushing this guy's nose made me horny and wet. Really … really, Bella? What is wrong with you?

My tendency to say the first thing in my head when I was distracted apparently wasn't failing me today either because "Stalker Boy" popped out of my mouth sooner than I could actually think it.

_Fuck, moron? You're not a moron. You're downright dumb sometimes._

My cheeks flushed bright red and I felt the heat of the blood rushing to my face instantly. I turned away from him and let loose a string of profanities, another one of my bad habits when I was nervous or embarrassed.

I shoved my notebook in my bag as quickly as I could and rushed to cover my face with my hands, hoping he either hadn't heard me or chose to overlook the moniker I'd attached to him over the past few days.

_Please don't ask me about it. I won't be able to lie to you when you're this close and you smell this good._ I begged him in my head, hoping that would let my indiscretion slide.

And guess what?

The guy had the nerve to laugh at me. He tried to cover it by putting his hand over his mouth, but I heard it. And worse yet, I actually felt his body shaking from the effort to keep his laughter in.

Finally, thankfully, his laughter subsided and he shoved his hands in his pocket, and I risked a quick look down to see the telltale signs that he was trying to cover up some hard junk by tenting his pants with his hands inside.

My inner twelve year old girl screamed "ewwwwwwww yucky boys!" while my inner horny woman began to wonder how big his dick was.

_Quick! Say something!_

"So do you work here or something?" was the first thing that popped out of my mouth.

D'oh.

I swear sometimes I am smooth as a freaking porcupine.

Despite my horribly loose mouth which tended to betray me, Stalker Boy and I managed to work awkwardly through a semi-coherent conversation. Yeah, I know. Give me a freaking Pulitzer for my world class conversation skills.

Not.

Though between the both of us, it seemed neither of us would be winning any awards for our conversational skills. He seemed just as awkward at this whole talking thing as I felt which oddly put me a little bit at ease.

"Edward," he answered when I asked his name and gave him mine.

So it turned out Stalker Boy had a classy name.

Inwardly I grinned at myself, thinking that the story I'd fabricated about him could possibly be somewhat true. I mean, what twenty-something guy named Edward actually went by his full name? I'd met Edwards before. They were all Eddie or Ed or some other variation. Anything but actually going by their first name.

With each passing second I spent in Stalker Boy's … er, Edward's presence, I actually felt myself relaxing more and more. Someone moving in the gallery caught my eye through the glass doors and I inclined my head through the doors.

"Have you seen this guy's stuff? I really like it. I've been sitting in here a lot lately," I said, sensing the growing comfort with him in my voice.

"Uh, yeah I think so. It's pretty good stuff," he returned.

Stalker … Edward smiled at me and for a second I actually thought my heart skipped a beat. It was … strange to say the least to have such a reaction to him like that. There was this hint of a glimmer in his eye and it made him look much younger than he probably was. Almost boyish rather than a man.

Something in the back of my head told me to get to know him more and I motioned for him to follow me inside the gallery. He took a step forward, indicating he'd follow me.

_I'd let him follow me anywhere,_ the voice in my head told me.

Whoa! Where'd that one come from?

The air inside the gallery was seemingly warmer than it had been when I'd left to go the bathroom and Edward's smell seemed to be intensified by the increased temperature.

I settled back into the couch and patted the small space next to me. Edward's face showed a small sign of indecision but for a second when something inside him seemed to resolve whatever he was struggling with and he crossed the few steps separating us, settling into the couch beside me.

His shoulder was a hair's width from mine, his shoulders broad and strong. For a quick second I pictured running my hands and lips across his naked shoulders, winding my hands around his stomach and pulling him back into me.

Okay, I really was pathetic. I had barely "known" him maybe fifteen minutes and I was already picturing him naked? Crazy, horny girl.

We sat there for a moment, glancing around at the paintings on the wall and enjoying a companionable silence. My heart was beating furiously in my chest and my legs clenched together nervously.

Or was it really nerves or something else completely?

Truth was, I didn't know.

"So tell me why you like this guy's work," he finally said, breaking the silence.

I couldn't help the smile that broke across my face for some reason. I had absolutely no explanation for the feeling of sudden glee I got except that being there in the museum gallery talking to Edward about art made me happy.

Before I knew what I was saying (damn the word vomit!) I was off and rolling about all the various things I liked about EC's works. I talked about his technique, his absolute master of the brushstroke. I liked to think that he knew when a painting didn't need a single more brush stroke. When it was just perfect enough and one more stroke would ruin a masterpiece.

I talked about how he seemed to connect with his subjects, seeing into their eyes and seeing them for what they were when the subject may not even know herself. How he had a knack for stripping a person down, figuratively and metaphorically, to her very basest emotion and portraying that on canvas. He could capture a single thought the subject had and made the viewer felt like that looking at them nude was if they were looking at them clothed. You almost forgot that you were looking at a naked woman rather than a clothed one. It was about the emotion and the depth of soul in the person's eye rather than her state of undress that captivated me.

My ramblings seemed to go on forever and I worried that I was boring Edward with my lengthy explanation why I liked the featured artist, but the times I paused and waited for a yawn or some other sign of fatigue with my words, I found none.

It seemed like he was captivated by me. By my words.

Though I'm not going to lie and say I didn't catch him looking at my boobs on more than one occasion. I brushed off the first time as a reflex to some type of arm movement I made, but the second and then the third time his line of vision latched onto my swaying boobs, I was convinced he was openly staring at them.

I laughed to myself and waved my hand in front of his face.

No change.

It's like my nipples and his eyes were magnetically connected and nothing could break the connection they had.

Okay, different tactic.

I kept talking about the paintings and discreetly let my hands wander to my chest. First I rubbed my left nipple through my shirt, almost like I had an itch or something. Of course it hardened and showed through my rather thin lace bra I was wearing that day.

Edward shifted in his seat unconsciously.

Oh yeah, he was definitely staring at them.

I snickered and repeated the same movement on my right nipple, bringing that one to attention under my shirt.

I paused, waiting for Edward's reaction.

He groaned gently and I thought I saw the bulge in his pants growing.

Perv, I thought.

_Don't lie and say you don't enjoy it! _the voice in my head chided me.

Shit, I did enjoy it.

Here I had this rather handsome looking man who obviously was at least partially interested in me all but drooling over something as simple as my hardened nipples. And I was complaining? No, I wasn't complaining, just commenting.

Time to pull out the big tits … er, guns.

I kept up my inane ramblings, this time switching to something generally about the museum. About how white the walls were in comparison to the pop of color of the paintings.

Reaching up with both my hands, I gently massaged the outside of my boobs before squeezing them together ever so subtly. Anybody looking at me offhand might dismiss the action as a scratch or a reflex, but with Edward pretty much zoned solely in on my boobs I knew he'd catch it.

Sure enough, we had a reaction.

He groaned a little louder and his shifted in his place again, his hand drifting towards his crotch.

My hands dropped to my side instantly, my grin growing exponentially.

Guys were so easy to read sometimes.

Before his hand got right where it was going though, I raised my hand and snapped my fingers right in his face. That did the trick of breaking the spell my boobs had over his psyche at the moment and his eyes flashed upwards to meet mine.

"Enjoying yourself, mister?" I giggled.

His mouth fell open and all color drained from his face.

I'd caught him red-handed!

My giggles turned to full fledged belly laughs and people in the small gallery turned to stare at me as I couldn't contain the loud laughs. Edward's head dropped and his face blushed a color I didn't know he was capable of as he ran his hand through his long hair.

Tears actually came to my eyes while I was laughing.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," he stammered.

"It's … it's … it's okay," I managed through my dying laughter. I took a deep breath to work out the last of my giggles and another one escaped my mouth before I could manage straight words again. "They're pretty nice after all."

"Yeah, you can say that again," Edward mumbled and ran his hand through his hair again while looking away.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be so mean to you, but you looked kind of like a kid in a candy store for a second there," I said and smiled softly at him. I really hadn't mean to so thoroughly embarrass him, but it had turned out so well I couldn't stop myself.

That'll teach him to pay attention to that part of a woman's anatomy rather than her words.

The other museum visitors had filtered out during my loud laughter, probably preferring to view the art in peace.

Edward fiddled with his hands in his lap, still probably trying to calm his obvious hard on that had developed while he'd feasted his eyes on my chest.

I mumbled some awkward quiet fillers before my comments filtered off.

Thankfully, Jerry chose that moment to pop his head in the doors.

"Hey, you two. Museum's closing early tonight. Private showing by the director. Gotta take it elsewhere if you want to flirt with each other some more," he said.

I blushed and Edward's nervous smile returned from Jerry's comment.

"Uh, so are you going to be here tomorrow?" he asked almost unsure of his own question.

I brushed a piece of hair back out of my eye and thought about his question for only a moment.

"I think so. Are you going to be here?" I asked him back.

His smile grew a bit wider and I caught the flash of his really white teeth for a moment.

"Yeah, probably. Nothing else to do but hang out at the museum," he said. "It's not like …"

Jerry's knock on the door interrupted whatever Edward was going to say and our heads snapped to the glass doors. Jerry had a stern look on his face and he roughly motioned for us to get going.

Edward chuckled softly and said, "I think we better get going. Don't want Jerry to have a coronary trying to kick us out."

I climbed off the couch and felt Edward's hand softly on the small of my back.

It sent a weird shiver through my body.

A weird good shiver.

We parted at the museum exit with another round of "you sure you're going to be here?" questions.

Before he melted into the crowd of foot traffic of commuters on their way to various types of mass transit, he turned back to me and shot me a grin unlike any other I'd seen him give me so far in the short time I actually "knew" him.

Truth be told?

It made my insides squishy.

That good kind of squishy that made me think that there was something growing.

Something amazing.


	7. Chapter 7: Ch Ch Changes

**A/N: Apologies for the delay in this. Blame J.R. Ward, a stationary bike, a possible romantic interest and my lack of … er, inspiration to write this. Don't worry. I would never abandon a story. **

**The Inspiration**

**Chapter 7: Ch-Ch-Changes**

**Edward**

Okay, I admit it. She caught me. Red-fucking-handed. Or maybe the better term is red-fucking-eyed. But come on! Her tits? Were simply perfect and I'm pretty sure they were putting some kind of spell on me. I've seen a ton of tits in my time as a painter of nude women and hers were probably the best ones I'd ever seen. I couldn't help myself with them just there … in front of me … looking so … delicious. Who was I to blame?

But yeah. I'm a pig. I'm a guy with a dick that seriously needed attention by the time Bella was done with me.

And more importantly when I got home from my afternoon staring at Bella's books, I could barely contain myself. I immediately went from walking to wanking. Dear sweet baby Jesus. I thought I was going to rub myself raw even with the help of a trusty bottle of lube.

Four good handjobs later in bed, I ran out of tissues at my bedside before I crawled my sorry ass into the shower so I didn't have to throw my sheets away from how much spunk was spewing from Mt. Splashmore.

When I finally collapsed into my bed (which smelled a little too much like one-sided sex) I was satisfied and satiated.

I can't say I didn't feel a little bad for objectifying her that way, using her for visual and mental fuel for my own twisted fantasies about her. I may have been zoned out on her amazing chest, but despite all other indicators I did pay attention to what she was saying.

And here's the thing.

What she was saying about my work was possibly the best thing I'd ever heard about my work in my short yet fruitful career. I've heard plenty of both empty and honest compliments. Most I took to heart and enjoyed, but there was just something in particular about the ones she gave me that lit a special place in my heart like a fucking pussy.

Bella seemed so genuine in everything she said. I couldn't ever picture her saying anything disingenuous. I couldn't picture a lie ever passing those perfect, pouty lips of hers.

I woke up the next morning with two feelings. The first being hard morning wood that demanded attention. Sadly the previous night's …. activities had left me a bit on the sore side. Rather than attend to The Dude's needs, I let a cold shower and thoughts of sumo wrestling take care of them for me. Nothing like a fat man in a thong to deflate the downstairs extra fast.

The second feeling I woke up with was one of anxiousness. I was anxious to see Bella again. Anxious to be around her. Anxious to hear her speak again. Anxious to see what came out of her mouth today. Anxious to feel her body's warmth and lean into her.

And fuck if I was anxious to know what she tasted like. What face she made when she came and if she liked being on top or underneath. Need I remind you of my dude status? So of course those things were there. I couldn't help them. The hard part was keeping them in check. Well, the hard part was technically The Dude, but that's neither here nor there. That's merely a given being around Bella.

My trip to the museum seemed shorter that morning and my steps lighter. Every one brought me closer to Couch Girl … brought me closer to Bella. The thought was not all together unpleasant to say the least.

Some new girl was at the front desk instead of Bea and I made a mental note to compare tomorrow. Bea may have been one of the most strong-willed women I'd ever met, but she was still quite old and the thought something could have happened to her worried me.

Jerry was already there like usual when I came sauntering up to my gallery. He gave me the typical man nod, tipping his chin up in my direction.

"So Jerry, Bella here yet?" I asked casually, trying to sound interested and yet detached at the same time.

Jerry gave me a funny look before breaking into a knowing smile.

"You like her," he said with his secret smile and a twinkle in his eye. He'd made the statement, rather than asking me the question.

I sputtered and backtracked, trying to cover myself for some reason I couldn't understand. My head shook side to side and I waved my hands about in agreement.

Jerry laughed and said, "Relax, Edward. I'm not going to rat you out to the pretty girl but I am gonna ask you to treat her right. She's a special one. Something about her that is so sweet and innocent. She reminds me of my girl at that age."

_She might be sweet and innocent, but she's got tits that ain't saying that_, The Dude reminded me. _I bet if you got her under you, that sweet act would fly right out the proverbial window_.

I silenced The Dude's lewd thoughts with a mental shove and tried to do my best to lock him away for now. Plenty of time enough for his comments while I had my cock in my hand … later. Much later. After I got a day's worth of fodder for the solo sexing.

I sheepishly nodded at Jerry, indicating that I would keep that promise to him as best I could.

His eyes darted from mine and I sensed another person behind me.

_Play it cool, man. No need to get all pussed out for this girl even if you do wanna hear her talk all freaking day like a wuss._

Seriously, sometimes the thing between my legs could be such a fucking drag.

"Hey," the soft voice from behind me said. Much to my dismay, the mere sound of her voice started to get me hard.

Today was going to be a damn log day if she wanted to talk the entire time. Eight hours of sitting with a hard on would be like eight days at this rate.

I turned around and was once again reminded of just how beautiful Bella was. She was wearing some kind of navy blue turtleneck sweater, probably in response to yesterday's tit show. The artist in me couldn't help but admire how well the color reacted with the undertones in her skin.

The man in me wanted to peel said sweater right off.

Her rich brown eyes made my mind reach to come up with the right combination of oil paints I would need to mix to reproduce the shade. Mentally doing the mixing, I came up with a combination of equal parts Brown Ochre and Burnt Carmine, with a dash of Transparent Oxide Brown. Bella's skin tone though … that would take some time to mix properly. And her shade of blush would take longer still.

She smiled gently at me and brought me out of my paint mixing thoughts.

"Want to head in?" she asked sweetly.

Okaaaaay, so the sweet Bella was back today. What had happened to the temptress who hypnotized me with her great tits yesterday? I made it my goal to see that side of her again today. As much as I liked sweet innocence, the temptress sides of women were so much more fun to see and play with.

I followed Bella into my gallery, a few steps behind her so I could take a good look at her ass I'll admit. Which, of course, was perfect. I was beginning to wonder if there was a part of her that wasn't perfect, though the chance of that was rather slim … much like her hips I might add.

The morning passed in much the same manner as the previous day's afternoon went, but this time my eyes weren't blatantly attached to Bella's chest. I will admit to a sly glance every now and then when I couldn't stand it any more though.

Mostly, I just listened. I watched as her mouth carefully formed each word, as her brow's furrowed when she was trying to figured out how to explain something in her mind, or as her hands waved animatedly around in the air. I noticed she had a nervous habit of playing with her hair when there was the occasional awkward pause, tucking it behind her ear or running her fingers through the ends that hung over her shoulders.

People came and went around us in the gallery, though thankfully none of them recognized me. There wasn't many pictures of me out there in the media about the up and coming painter EC, and I liked it that way. The adulation was only so good for so long. Fuck, I loved being a private person and preferred walking down the street in peace to walking down the street being mobbed. I couldn't understand how those movie stars lived their life like that, always constantly in the spotlight. But maybe that's the difference between artists and actors. What artists produce was something of their own hands and minds. Actors actually put themselves out there as the product.

What hung on the white walls around Bella and me in the gallery was products of my own hands. Hours upon hours carefully spent scrutinizing the lighting, shading and coloring of my subjects. Replicating those facets of a subject's personality I wished to highlight while minimizing those I wished to hide.

After awhile Bella took out a small notebook and made a few notes in it, and I gave her peace to do whatever work she was doing. I leaned back into the small couch, savoring what was probably the first time in awhile I actually felt … peaceful.

Sitting there in the small, intimate space with her didn't make me want to get up and run. Her body so close to mine had a calming effect on me. While a part of me still wanted to throw her down on that very couch and take her, the larger part of me was really having a good time just talking to her.

She tucked her notebook back into her bag and fidgeted with her hands in her lap, her hair falling down in a curtain around her face.

I didn't even notice when my hand reached up to brush it back.

My fingers grazed her cheek and the only thought in my head was _so soft._

Bella sighed quietly, almost too quiet to hear if it wasn't for the almost near silence of the museum around us.

"So," she said and looked up at me through long burgundy eyelashes.

Unfortunately The Dude chose that moment to picture her looking up at me through the very same eyelashes under vastly different circumstances.

Fuck, not now. Everything is going so damn well.

I carefully repositioned myself on the couch, desperately trying to not give away the fact my dick was getting carried away.

"So," I squeaked out, probably giving myself away.

A faint blush crossed her cheeks and I caught a hint of a knowing smile on her lips.

Oh fuck, lips.

Not helping, dammit!

"So what do you do anyway?" Bella asked and popped her head up to look me square in the eye.

I could see the edges of sex kitten Bella begin to come back to her and it certainly didn't ease my current predicament at all. She pushed her chest out a bit and I bit back a moan, remembering her catching me openly staring yesterday in the process.

Must. Not. Attach. To. Nipples.

"Do you work?" she said again, reminding me there was a brain attached to those tits.

"Oh, yeah. Work. I … uh … I'm in art," I stammered and tried to cover my ass.

"That makes sense considering you're here and all, but what do you do 'in art?'" she continued.

My mind did flips trying to come up with an explanation.

"_So Bella, look around. All this art of naked chicks you like so much? Yeah, that was me. That one there? That's Tatiana. I fucked her on the couch she's posing on after we were done." _

Yeah, no. Not exactly what the response she was probably looking for. Problem was, I had no other answer than to lie.

"I dabble. You know, a little of this here, a little of that there. I do a lot of … uh, gallery stuff," I said, flying by the seat of my pants.

Bella's smile faltered a bit, turning somewhat into a frown.

"Vague enough?" she asked with narrowing eyes.

Quick, buddy! Cover your fucking ass!

"Yeah, well. Art's kind of one of those areas. Talk to anybody else in this industry and they'll probably give you a similar answer. Us art folk wear a lot of hats. Personally, I like those old man ones that look like golfing hats. Totally old school throwback style," I laughed at myself.

Fucking word vomit, douchebag. Spectacular. Really.

She shrugged a bit, seeming to be appeased by that answer.

"Personally, I'm a sombrero kind of girl," she chuckled.

The image of Bella in a huge sequined sombrero passed through my mind and I couldn't help but join her laughter. The picture was just too fucking funny.

"Really?" I grinned.

"No, stupid. I'm just giving you shit," she laughed and her eyes flashed with enjoyment.

"So what do you do then since you asked me? I mean, I think you do something with writing, but what?" I asked in return to her question.

Bella grinned at me and waved her wrist in a dismissive manner.

"Oh you know … I dabble mostly," she said and laughed.

Her laughter was contagious and before long we were pretty much whooping it up with full bellied laughs. Jerry leaned his head in the glass door and shhh-ed us with a menacing looking smile.

Bella covered her mouth with her hand, attempting to contain a few lingering chuckles that were still coming. I leaned back against the couch.

And it hit me then.

It felt good to laugh like this. To laugh with her.

I was by no means an uptight guy, but for most of my life I'd heard variations on "let loose", "live a little" or "chill out." Art was everything to me and I took all facets of it very seriously. Problem was, those facets pretty much were in all parts of my life. There really wasn't anywhere I could go to escape from the seriousness that was my art.

When I woke up in the morning, the canvases were there in the corner of my loft to remind me of paintings still undone. Pretty much everything I owned smelled like turpentine or oil pants from the open air apartment.

The most I usually "let loose" was downing a shit ton of liquor and passing out on my couch. Well, that and the occasional good fuck, but those were coming farther and farther apart these days.

That wasn't because I didn't have an endless stream of willing partners thanks to a charming personality and great smile, but it was more of a … well, it just wasn't satisfying any more. Honestly, I didn't know how guys kept it up. The constant manwhoring.

Let's be honest. We're not all that bright. We like three things. Food. Sleep. Sex. In any combination and variation. But the problem with that was somewhere along the line, the proportions of that had gotten out of whack for me.

And life was about balance. Or it should be at least.

"Earth to Edward…" Bella said and waved her hand in front of my face.

My unfocused eyes drifted up and refocused on her face.

"Hey," I said lazily.

"Where'd you go just then? You kinda zoned out while I was talking about Chicago winters," she said and her eyes searched my face.

"Oh shit. Sorry. I got lost thinking about something," I replied in a rush.

She smiled softly at me, a different smile than I'd seen her make since I'd been … er, watching her.

"I do that sometimes. Kind of the curse of being a writer. Care to share with the class or not?" she asked, her eyes falling to her fumbling hands in her lap.

Did I want to share? Did I want to share how everytime I fucked a new girl now I was terrified I'd get her name wrong? How my life was not exactly fulfilling even though I was a successful artist with a fucking Art Institute gallery exhibit for godsakes? How I just wanted to get away from the constant push to create, to paint, to bring in money? How I hadn't really even painted in … shit, weeks now?

Yeah, those are probably things I shouldn't be dumping on her right now.

_Maybe later … _

Wait. Later?

Bella sighed a little and I realized she was still waiting for me to say something.

Problem was, all I wanted to do in that moment was touch her.

And being the jerk I was in large part, I couldn't hold back.

I reached out my hand, trailing the back of my fingers down her jaw. Her eyelids closed a bit and I watched as her lashes fluttered from my touch. Her head leaned a bit into my hand, almost as if she wanted more. I turned my hand around and this time ran the pads of my fingers across the other side of her jaw. She sighed again, but this time it was more of a happy sigh I think.

When I got to Bella's chin, I cupped her jaw and felt the softness and warmth of her skin.

My dick twitched in my pants, responding against my will. In one of the few moments like this in my life, I actually just wanted to enjoy being with her. To hear that laugh of hers and see her eyes shine. Catch the sideways sultry looks and know she wanted to be there with me just as much as I wanted to be there with her.

Jerry's words from earlier in the day rang through my head.

"_You like her_."

I wasn't sure I wanted to deny it any more.

We'd spent, what, maybe fifteen hours tops together and I couldn't deny his words any more.

I liked her.

I really did.

My heart was beating strongly in my chest and I worried that Bella could hear it. The thing was practically a fucking bass drum in the quiet stillness of the gallery. Listen any harder and I'm sure she could hear my damn cock getting hard too.

That's what Bella did to me. Thinking about her. Wondering about her. Wanting to be around her. Actually being around her. Listening to her talk. Hearing her sigh those soft little happy sighs. Learning her quirky mannerisms. Seeing her scribble in that notebook of hers.

I took a quick look around the gallery, and Jerry was pointing to his watch through the glass.

It was my turn to sigh this time. Bella's eyes flickered open and they were wide as they took me in.

"What?" she asked breathily.

"I think we have to go. Looks like Jerry's giving me the stink eye from outside," I lamented. Yeah, I actually lamented leaving today.

Bella blinked a few times and I could have sworn she was trying to wake herself out of a daze. Or at least that's what it looked like she was doing. She grabbed her bag and I stood up, offering her my hand to help her up.

She smiled at my outstretched hand and grabbed for it.

Fuck, even her fingers were beautiful.

And there in that moment, I made it my mission in life to get her naked. Not so I could fuck her, though that would be oh-so-enjoyable, but so I could paint her.

I wanted to immortalize what I saw in front of me. Those big brown eyes and creamy skin with an apple cheeked glow lit from inside. The soft ringlets of her hair and sloping neck. Her high cheekbones and slightly clefted chin.

That light I saw inside of her when she ranted and raved about art. The passion she showed for explaining things. The personality I'd only seem the tip of. The intelligence that impressed the hell out of me already.

All of those things and so much more.

And I wanted to do it the right way. I didn't want to be some jerk who smooth talked his way into her what I'm sure were sexy as hell underwear. I could already tell that this girl deserved more than that.

I wanted to deliver.

For the briefest second the thought that she'd already begun to captivate me crossed my mind and for an even briefer second that thought scared me.

I liked being me. How I did things was great. I didn't want to … well, change.

But in a lot of ways, right then I wanted to be someone else. I wanted to be someone who was worthy of Bella. I knew so damn little about her and yet I wanted to be worthy of her. I wanted to be worthy enough that she felt safe and comfortable enough with me to let me paint her. To let me see that vulnerable side every woman had when they took off their clothes and posed. They thought I saw their imperfections.

What I saw was female beauty.

Here … this girl … this Bella … she had more of it than any woman I'd ever painted before.

And not just because of her physical beauty.

I had a sense that there were so many more things about Bella that were beautiful than just her appearance, as fucking hot as that was.

I'd seen a little of it in our short time already.

As we made our way out of the museum and into the crisp fall Chicago air, we exchanged awkward pleasantries about the weather and sports neither of us were really interested in. We talked about the museum a bit.

I felt like both of us were leaving something unsaid though. There was something I wanted to say, something she wanted to say and wasn't saying. I longed to be able to hear her thoughts, to know what was going on in that head of hers at the moment. She looked so far away as we walked through the streets, business commuters and suited people of all ages and colors all around us.

"Bella?" I finally said, halting my steps.

She stopped too, looking up at me from beneath those lashes of hers again.

"Yeah?" she said softly.

"I really liked being around you today."

It was as honest as I could get without giving away everything I actually wanted to say.

She smiled at me, that soft smile that made her eyes glimmer a bit.

"I liked being around you, Edward," she answered me.

"Tomorrow then?" I asked, not wanting to draw it out any longer. I wasn't sure what to say and sure as hell wasn't sure my damn cock (that had been demanding attention for hours now mind you) could take much longer.

"Yeah," she replied.

"I'm this way," I said, thumbing my way towards a street.

She nodded her head in the opposite direction. "I'm that way."

We stood there for a second. It seemed neither of us wanted to leave the other in that moment.

And then I did it.

I leaned into her, my hand reaching up to cup her cheek. She looked up at me with searching eyes. "Edward?" she said softly.

I wasn't sure I was going to do it before she said my name, but hearing it solidified what I'd considered doing.

I brought my face down to hers and could feel her warm breath against my lips. Her eyes fluttered closed and I thought I heard her breath hitch for a moment.

Brushing my lips across hers, I marveled at how soft they were. Everything about her was soft.

Very easily I could have pushed for more. I could have thrust my tongue in her mouth and claimed her. Could have run my fingers through her hair. Could have pushed my body in line with hers, letting her feel how hard she'd gotten me all day.

That's what the Edward of a few hours ago would have done.

This new Edward though, the one who was looking to be worthy, he took the hardest option of all of them.

I pulled my face back from hers and ran the pad of my thumb across her cheek.

"See you tomorrow," I said quietly.

Stepping away from her in that moment was possibly the most difficult thing I'd ever done. And no, I wasn't being a drama queen or exaggerating in any way by saying that.

I'd known her for such a short amount of time.

Sure, I'd been … stalking her … for awhile.

But actually knowing her, talking to her, hell just being around her was so much better.

I took a few steps back from her and the crowd of people around us seemed to swallow us both up. People converged on all sides and I was forced to keep going backward.

I kept my eyes on Bella for as long as I could.

When her eyes finally opened up again, I about came in my damn pants.

She was so fucking beautiful it almost hurt to look at her.

"Bella, you're unlike anybody I've ever met," I whispered to myself as my words got lost in the sounds of the city all around me.

Turning around, I headed off back to my apartment with heavy steps that only took me further away from perfection.


	8. Chapter 8: Making Plans

**The Inspiration**

**Chapter 8: Making Plans**

**Bella**

Jasper wasn't home when I got there and I was actually thankful for that. I needed time to sort through everything that was going on in my head.

And believe me, it was pretty damn chaotic in there.

I plopped by bag on the couch in the living room, not even bothering to take my notebook out like I normally did when I got home from the museum. More than likely I would not be doing any transcribing tonight anyways.

My coat landed in a heap of fabric as soon as I was inside my bedroom, my shoes making a satisfactory thud as I slipped each one off my feet.

I could hear the faint hum of the city sounds outside my window, the wail of a police siren in the distance.

Flopping back onto my overly large bed for only me, my arms fanned out at my sides and I'm sure I looked like some supine fallen angel in that moment.

My memory traitorously flashed me images of the very … detailed and graphic sex dream I'd had the night before of Stalker Boy, I mean Edward. I was pretty much in the same position as in my dream, but the difference was that Edward had been on top of me, the hard lines of his body pressed against my softer ones.

I'd had a handful of sex dreams before in my life so I wasn't completely unfamiliar with the, but there was just something about this one that I particularly enjoyed and relished.

And I'm pretty sure I might have actually came in my sleep if it wasn't for the loud bang Jasper made right outside my bedroom near that point in my dream. Of course I gave him a withering glare when I finally crawled out from under the covers (after my heart and body managed to cool the hell off) in search of some strong form of caffeine I could possibly lace with alcohol. I may be a good girl most of the time, but I'm not above adding a kick to my morning wake me up if necessary.

The more I laid there in bed though the more I thought about Edward. Thoughts of him had been plaguing me all day. Okay, that was probably the wrong word to use. Hmmm … perhaps 'occupying' is a better word. Granted that was probably because I had been with him all day, but it was beyond simple interaction thoughts.

The truth was that I enjoyed being around him. I had begun to warm to his constant presence during his time as Stalker Boy, but now that I knew his actual name and had talked to him I felt even more comfortable around him.

He certainly wasn't like any other guy I had been around. Jasper was more like my brother from another mother and filled that specific role spectacularly. There were just some things though that he couldn't do for me. Sure he could hold me while I cried, an intimate act in the first place, but the most intimate act was … unthinkable with him. Really, did you have sexual thoughts about your brother? Well maybe if "Flowers in the Attic" is your favorite book and an accurate description of your life, but the overwhelming answer should be a big "hell no!"

Sure I got by with what I needed thanks to a near silent piece of vibrating plastic I procured thanks to a beyond embarrassing toy party I had been invited to as a bachlorette party for a college friend. I was all for good sex like the next girl, but even I had to shield my eyes when the woman started waving dildos around like a sword and talking about pirate porn and using a strap-on on your guy. I won't begrudge anybody their fetish, but ewwwwwwwwwwww … so not my thing.

Luckily I managed to escape with a fairly plain vibrator and a sample pack of flavored massage oil. Pretty innocuous in the grand scheme of things.

I leaned over and slid the bedside table's drawer open, rooting around to see what I had left. At the bottom next to an embarrassingly old, dog-eared romance novel I stole from my mother when I was twelve was the plastic tube with the oil packets. Four of the original eight were left and secretly I hoped that those four would be used on Stalker boy in some way, shape or form.

I just had to wrangle him into bed without looking, sounding or otherwise coming off as a horny slut. Though to be perfectly honest, something told me that getting Edward in bed wouldn't exactly be a difficult task for me. I think the fact his eyes were glued to my tits less than 60 hours ago probably indicated that.

He was constantly looking at me very predatorily, almost like I was something he wanted to eat, to devour, to consume.

The thought sent shivers through my body and not altogether unpleasant ones at that.

I felt like I could talk with him, really talk not make awkward, time-filling, inane chatter about the weather or current events.

Sure, we'd made a bit of it outside the museum, what … damn … minutes ago I guess. By now it felt like hours.

I brushed my fingers across my lips, still feeling the feather-light kiss he'd given me before bounding off backwards into the throng of people on the street. The kiss that had been so unexpected, yet so real and in the moment at the same time. I'd caught something flash across his face, something I'm not sure he intended to let me see.

If I was being perfectly honest with myself, something I liked to think I usually was, it kicked me in the gut to walk away from him. To go the opposite direction from which he was headed knowing full well I wanted to be walking with him instead.

It was a strange sensation, wanting to follow after him just to spend more time with him and one I was not used to having.

I made my life writing about other people's lives, their emotions, their intimate actions. At a whim, I could peel back motivations and facades, seeing the truth behind everything. I created characters and knew everything about them.

And here I was unable to figure out the mystery of my own feelings.

It was an interesting paradox to say the least.

One so confusing I actually sighed audibly into the relative silence of my bedroom before I could stop the discontented noise from leaving my lips.

I heard the apartment door creak open and then shut from out in the main room.

"Jay, that you?" I shouted from my horizontal position on the bed, not wanting to move unless I really had too.

"No, Bee. Just a random burglar here to pillage and sack the apartment like usual," came Jasper's lighthearted reply.

I laughed a bit at his humor and brushed a clump of hair out of my vision.

"Well, good that you're announcing your intentions at least. You wanna come in here and plunder the riches of my bedroom first?" I shouted back to him.

Jasper's languid footsteps sounded down the hallway and his head popped around the doorframe, his body following behind him.

"Awww, Baby Bee. What's got your hive all aflutter today? Last time I saw you laying in bed like this was senior year of college from what was his name …" he said and tapped on his chin softly in thought.

"Tommy Johnson," we said at the same time.

"Scumbag. Fucker cheated on you with that Zeta sorority girl with the bad boob job," Jasper scowled.

I winced at the memory.

"Don't remind me," I grimaced out.

"So why so glum now?" he asked, quickly diverting my attention.

I patted the bed beside me and Jasper kicked his shoes off before climbing on the bed, mirroring my position next to me.

We sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, and I knew Jay was letting me collect my thoughts before I inevitably spilled my guts. Such was our way and it had happened many times before.

"I don't know that I'm necessarily glum. Maybe … confused more so? So the question I guess you should be asking is, why so confused?" I said finally with a sigh.

Jasper chuckled a moment and said, "Bingo, babe."

I rolled over on my side and propped my head up with my bent arm.

"I kind of met this guy at the museum," I stated calmly.

Jasper's eyes started back at me knowingly, the light azul blue one of my favorite colors in the whole world. They made him look like he was an old soul, too old for a time that was passing him by almost.

"And …" he said softly, letting me go at my own pace.

I flopped on my back again with a dramatic sigh, this time curling myself around Jasper's warm body. I felt the rhythmic rise and fall of his lungs against my chest and it seemed to calm me a bit.

"I think I like him, Jay," I whispered quietly.

We both let the words hang there in the air, casting a spell over everything either of us would say after.

"Well …" Jasper finally said.

My eyes flickered up to his and I saw them kind of misty.

"Yeah?" I said softly.

"He hurts you and I'll personally rip his nuts off and feed them to him slice by slice with a rusty Swiss Army knife," he replied.

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing.

It was such a typical Jasper response to anything involving a romantic interest of mine. If there was one thing I could count Jasper on being it was fiercely protective of me even though I was older by two months, four days and sixteen hours.

His arm curled protectively around me and I could have sworn I even heard him growl a bit as my shaking laughter subsided and I wiped the few tears that had escaped thanks to said laughter.

I punched him lightly in the chest and said, "Well, Mama Bear, I would expect no less from you so you better deliver if that happens."

Jasper rolled his eyes at me and sat up, leaning back on his arms still slightly.

"So what's the plan of action? You have a war strategy yet?" he asked with a slight smile.

I shook my head against his chest and inhaled that smell of Jasper that was one part woodsy, one part spicy.

"I'm assuming you're talking to him, know his name and all that stuff, right? Not just some far away crush that's the Bella Swan special," he chuckled.

I swatted at him again and rolled my eyes.

"Yes, Jay. And I did that once in high school. I was young, stupid and so damn shy I thought I would explode from blushing if I got within fifteen foot of that guy," I answered.

"Well, you've grown out of most of the stupid and some of the young, but I'm not so sure about the whole shy thing," Jasper said.

"Did I mention how I lured him to my boobs and caught him red-handed?" I asked him and rolled over on my stomach, propping my chin on my hand.

"Isabella Marie! You skank! I'm so proud of you! Growing up and flying Mama Jay's coop," Jasper grinned and wiped at an imaginary tear on his cheek.

I giggled and rolled my eyes again.

"God, the next thing we're going to be doing here is braiding each other's hair or something. When did you turn into such a girl, Jasper? Am I going to need to learn how to do a tuck on you or something? Cause I'm sorry, but I ain't touching little Jasper any time soon unless you're either dead or in mortal danger."

Jasper's eyes got wide as saucers and he covered his package in horror, his mouth hanging open in a mask of terror.

"Oh god no. This bad boy is not getting shoved backwards at all. He belongs front and proud. And besides I only braided your hair that one time. When you broke your elbow in fifth grade and you had to beg me for a damn week before I even agreed to it," he finally said.

"I remember that. If I also remember correctly you enjoyed your little stint as my hairdresser a little too much for a straight man," I giggled.

"Hold your tongue, you evil liar! I enjoyed no such thing! You just have really nice hair for a girl, that's all," Jasper said and fingered some of the hair falling down in front of my face.

"Whatever. Potato, potahto," I said and rolled my eyes at him for the last time I promised.

We were both silent then, my thoughts lingering back to Edward while I had no clue what Jasper was thinking about.

"You're going back tomorrow," Jasper finally said, breaking the quiet atmosphere of the room.

"Yeah," I answered quickly. It was second nature for me now. Wake up, shower, museum, and now I guess that routine included Edward.

Jay hauled himself up from my bed and grabbed his shoes. "Well, I'd love to sit around and talk about your boy, your bra size, zits and all those girl things, but I'm already at my estrogen quotient for the day and I have some journal articles I need to review for tomorrow. You want dinner in forty maybe?"

I nodded and Jasper smiled softly at me, his dimples showing on the side of his mouth.

"I know you're over-thinking this guy thing. Just go with it. Not everything has to make sense, Bee. Sometimes it just feels right," he said then and the corners of his eyes turned up as he spoke. He pushed his blond hair back with his free hand and turned, walking out of my bedroom.

My elbows slid out from under me and I lay on my stomach on my bed, my head turned to the side.

Maybe Jasper had it right. Maybe I was over-thinking this whole Edward thing. I wasn't looking for a permanent thing. It didn't have to be long term. Maybe it could just be a fun thing. We obviously got along pretty well and I felt comfortable around him. I looked forward to seeing him when I woke up and for the past few nights he'd been the last thing I'd thought about as I fell asleep.

_Sometimes it just feels right_, Jasper's voice echoed in my head.

I opened my eyes and saw all the Post-Its I'd stuck to my wall over my desk, the basic outline of my new story.

I liked things that way. I liked logic and order. I liked a beginning, a middle and an end. I liked knowing what was going on in my life at all times.

My heart thudded erratically in my chest, making me think that it didn't necessarily agree with me. My heart was trying to tell me something and I wasn't listening.

Maybe I should listen a little more closely.

XXXXX

I woke up the next morning with a stronger sense of anticipation to see Edward at the museum than all the days previous. I'd stayed up late the previous night, just mulling over everything.

My book, my feelings, Edward, Jasper, pretty much everything.

Love stories weren't my forte. I'd read them plenty of times, but I had never been good with writing them. The romance always felt forced, like it was never supposed to be in the first place.

And with my luck, they'd all end up like some twisted Romeo and Juliet tale, only it wouldn't be quite as romantic or self-sacrificing. It would just be painful.

Romance wasn't my thing.

I decided on jeans and a long sleeve v-neck t-shirt when I got out of the shower, pulling them on and noting that today Edward was probably going to have eyes for only my boobs today again. Not that I really had a problem with it, mind you.

Hell, I'll admit to checking out his package a time or twenty when he had to adjust himself. Yeah, I noticed him. He may have thought he was being all sneaky and inconspicuous with his hard-on, but I saw that thing and I'll be damned if my stomach didn't do a back flip.

It certainly wasn't helping the "must not look like easy slut" plan I was currently rocking.

The thing was I wasn't sure if what we were doing every day could be considered actual dates. If they were, then I was plenty into the acceptable date range for some sex. I had a general three to four date minimum. Okay, so I guess we'd been talking two-ish days, but the whole semi stalking thing accounted for at least a day or two of talking. So if I was equating talking to dating then I could perfectly well sleep with him and be okay with my rules.

At least that's how I justified it to myself.

It was cold outside when I finally left my apartment, a chilly fall rain coming down. It reminded me a bit of being back in Forks except with grey concrete as far as the eye could see instead of lush green forests.

Thankfully I had long since planned for the unpredictable Midwestern weather and pulled out my miniature umbrella I kept in my bag at all times.

The brown leather boots I'd pulled on sloshed through the puddles, and I even went out of my way a few times just to step in them. It was something I always did as a kid and every now and then got in the mood for it.

I was actually feeling rather lighthearted at the prospect of seeing Edward again after his gentle kiss yesterday, though part of me was hoping I'd get another one, perhaps a little more … intense this time. All that gentle stuff was well and good, but sometimes I like a guy who is a little more confident in his skills and knows what he wants and how to get it.

I had a feeling that Edward was one of those guys and I really wanted to find out.

When I got to the museum, Edward was waiting for me right inside the front doors, his hair dotted with rain droplets.

"No umbrella?" I asked and grinned at him.

"Sadly no," he replied with a smile that might have actually made my heart stop for a second.

We showed our passes to the older woman at the front counter and Edward asked her where she'd been the previous day. His eyes lit up when she answered that it was her granddaughter's fifth birthday. Of course this led to the woman pulling out a stack of pictures to show us and Edward and I ooh-ed and ahh-ed over the pictures at appropriate intervals, though I didn't have to force it much because the child was absolutely adorable.

I caught Edward looking at me a few times while Beatrice was showing us the pictures, a strange look in his eye. His gaze flickered away as soon as I met it with my own though.

The museum was almost deserted today, only a few visitors and the standard guards and employees mulling around.

Jerry gave us a smile when we walked toward the small gallery in the back corner, our home away from home now as it was.

The air was still and even a bit stuffy inside the gallery and I pulled off my jacket to make myself more comfortable.

Right on cue Edward's eyes zeroed in on my boobs and I even think he groaned a little bit.

"Aha! Caught you!" I said quickly and pointed my finger at him. "You're staring at my boobs again!"

His cheeks flushed an embarrassed pink and his eyes shot up towards mine, seeking redemption for his error.

"I swear I'm sorry, but I can't help it. They're like magnetic or something. You probably even picked that shirt knowing I'd stare. Come on. I'm a guy. I like boobs, what do you expect?" he asked and shrugged his shoulders.

It was my turn to blush a little from Edward inadvertently catching onto my not too subtle plan.

"Well can you at least divide your attention between my eyes and my boobs today?" I finally said when the heat across my cheeks began to fade.

He chuckled, a low throaty sound that was way too sexy for his own good. It was actually doing evil things to my girly bits, making me want to throw him down and have my way with him right there.

"I think I can do that. Besides, I really like your eyes. They're a really nice color. I'm sure most people describe then as cow brown or chocolate or some horrible clichéd color like that, but I bet I could do better. Here, let me look," he said and leaned his head towards mine.

His gaze was electric, captivating me and not making me want to even blink much less look away. Edward may have thought I had nice eyes, but his weren't so bad either. They were greenish, the color of new money, but with a slight golden shade to them. Like he had flecks or something.

He leaned in closer and I swear I felt his hot breath wafting across my face. Our noses were practically touching and the warmth of his eyes was almost overwhelming.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," I echoed him, my voice not sounding terribly steady.

"Definitely something better than chocolate," Edward whispered and smiled a half, crooked smile at me.

I don't know what compelled me to act just then, but I couldn't stop myself from moving forward and pressing my lips to his. They were warm and soft against mine. His eyes showed his shock for just a moment before my own eyes slid shut, thereby denying me visual confirmation of his reaction.

But I didn't need the visual to know he approved of my action.

I could feel his mouth form a smile for a moment before his lips responded to me. It seemed like he was holding back a little though and I took control, moving my lips against his in a sensual way. His tongue crept across my bottom lip and I parted mine slightly, showing him that if he wanted in I wouldn't stop him.

Edward hesitated for the briefest second before his tongue, warm and soft, slowly entered my mouth. He tasted like sweet mint and bitter coffee.

He scooted his body closer to me on the small couch, obviously forgetting where we were. Just as his arms started to move like he was going to put them around me, someone behind us cleared her throat and we broke away from each other.

My lips tingled and my face burned from the embarrassment of being caught practically sucking Edward's face in public. Even though I didn't really want to come face to face with our surprise guest, I cautioned a glance and saw an older woman, perhaps in her seventies, standing there with a scowl on her face. Obviously she didn't approve of our public display of … whatever that was.

"Sorry," I murmured and turned around before she could scowl harder.

Edward laughed very softly beside me and bumped his shoulder into mine. He bent his head sideways, and I leaned into him thinking he wanted to tell me something.

"I'm not sorry, though I am sorry we got interrupted by Senora Groucherson over there," he whispered. My cheeks flushed anew at his comment and I brought my hand up to my mouth to cover the giggle I made.

"Me too," I whispered back conspiratorially to him.

I didn't miss the smirk on his face.

This was the kind of stuff that I realized I liked about Edward. We could go from those moments where I accused him of blatantly staring at my boobs to moments of heavy sexual tension and the eventual release of it somehow right back into funny jokes about innocent bystanders who just happened to catch him macking on me.

The hours passed with not as much excitement, though I could tell he was definitely acting different after our tongues had met.

For some reason I ended up telling him about my childhood fishing trips with my dad Charlie. He laughed when I explained the time I let the little worms go because I didn't want my dad to spear them with his fishing hook.

He told me about a dog he'd had when he was four that liked to eat its own turds and I was horrified at that story, my stomach turning at the mere thought of it. But even I couldn't help the laughter when he said his mother knew nothing of the dog's eating habits and loved to let the dog lick her face.

We took turns telling funny stories and it felt so good to be able to talk to someone who didn't know all of them. I'd grown up with Jasper and most of my stories he could tell better than me.

Around lunch time we went down to the lower level and got lunch. Edward got this turkey sandwich on whole grain bread with havarti cheese and more lettuce and tomatoes than I'd ever seen on a sandwich. I couldn't resist the huge cheeseburgers and fries combo and Edward's eyes practically bugged out of his head as I shoveled the massive wedge fries into my mouth. I suspect it was probably because most girls he knew didn't eat like I did. I'd never been one to be shy with food, especially good food.

After lunch sometime around two or three p.m., we were back up in the gallery and talking about our favorite places in Chicago when Edward's phone beeped from his pocket.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a fancy looking phone. Pressing a few buttons, he frowned and muttered something that sounded like "dammit, Emmett. I know."

Edward punched a few keys and slid the phone back into his pocket before pinching his the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Problem?" I asked softly.

He moved his hand from his face and dragged it through his long hair, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No, just being bugged like normal. I swear, people don't want to leave you alone for a few hours any more just to enjoy life," he grumbled.

I nodded my head in agreement.

We were both quiet for a moment, my head bowed and I watched as I fiddled with my hands in my lap.

Edward sighed suddenly and spoke.

"So there's this gallery thing tomorrow night for … uh … this artist I know. No big deal. But I … uh … you know … do you want to go? No big deal if you have other plans, but it should be cool," he said, stammering over every word it seemed.

I smiled at him, his uncertainty actually cute.

"That sounds cool. I'd love to come. Like a date or friends or what?" I answered as butterflies exploded in my stomach.

His eyes flashed a look of panic for a second.

"I don't know. I mean, it could be a date if you want but friends is cool too," he said quickly.

"Friends is good … for now," I replied making sure to stress the "for now." Edward seemed so nervous that I didn't want to spook him off.

His relief was instantaneous. His shoulders lost the stress I hadn't even realized they'd been carrying and he exhaled a large breath.

"Great. The museum's closed tomorrow so I'll just call you with the address of the gallery, okay? I don't think it's very formal but I'll make sure to ask someone who knows," Edward said and smiled brightly at me, my heart skipping that beat again.

His eyes shone at me, telling me he was happy I'd agreed to the gallery thing.

The question was now, was this actually a date or did he mean the friends thing?

He turned his head sideways to me and I caught his wide grin.

Something told me it was probably the former rather than the latter.

Which only meant one thing.

I had a date with Edward.


	9. Chapter 9: Red Velvet and Finger Foods

**The Inspiration**

**Chapter 9: Red Velvet and Finger Foods**

**Bella**

Okay, so the prospect that I was actually going on a date with Edward was pretty much the most thrilling and yet terrifying thing in the entire world to me at that point. That we would be seeing each other outside of the confines of the museum, the stark white walls no longer surrounding us and focusing our attention.

Would he be different when we weren't in front of the museum's artwork? I mean we'd walked a bit outside together, but hadn't really spent any considerable time doing that.

I rather liked the idea that not a whole lot would change. I knew it wasn't an entirely realistic expectation given that things would invariably change due to the nature of bringing our … friendship? … relationship? I hadn't exactly settled on what to call it mostly because we really hadn't talked about that. Friendship would probably be the best thing at this point. Friendship was the safest route too given I had no idea what Edward's feelings were about the whole thing either.

I really didn't know why I was obsessing over something small like this. I knew him. He wouldn't change that much, if all. If there was one thing about him I could count on, it was his shocking regularity in my life. After all, he had originally been named "Stalker Boy" for a reason. I really didn't think that was going to change a whole lot just because we were seeing each other outside the museum walls.

The museum was closed the next day (the day of our "date") for some reason so I wouldn't see Edward again before the evening. We exchanged phone numbers and me being the total girl that I was, I assigned Edward a special ringtone so if he called I would know right away it was him without even looking at my phone.

Jasper was already home when I got there, cooking up a skillet full of delicious fajitas. My mouth watered at the sizzling steak.

"Hey, Bee. How was Stalker Boy today?" he grinned and flipped some of the onions and peppers over with the silicone spatula.

I rolled my eyes at him.

"Edward was fine today. I mean … he kind of askedmeouttoagallerything … but otherwise fine."

The words rolled off my tongue in one continuous loop, trying to get them all out before I could choke on them. Jasper's brows pushed together in confusion, but as soon as he figured out what I'd said, this huge smile broke out across his face and his seldom seen dimples appeared.

"That's great, Baby Bee! So how excited are you?" he said with a hoot.

I bit my lip and attempted to make myself look busy by digging through the fridge looking for cheese, sour cream and guacamole. Jasper clearly wasn't buying it though because he put the utensil down and came over to me, pulling on my shoulder so I'd look at him.

"Bella, you did tell him yes, didn't you?" he asked, his face a mask of seriousness.

My heart thudded in my chest.

"Of course I did … I just … I don't know … I'm nervous?" I said quietly.

Jasper pulled me in for an enveloping hug, his arms tight around me and his grandmother's sweet Southern charm displaying in full force.

"Awww, honey. It'll be fine. You like him and from everything you've told me about him, he likes you too. What's going through that head of yours that has you doubting this?" he said soothingly.

I sniffled into his chest, just now realizing a few traitor tears had escaped my eyes.

"What if he's different? What if he's really not interested in me?" I whispered.

I felt the laughter bubble up in his chest until he couldn't control it and it escaped through his mouth.

Ripping myself from his embrace, I curled my arms in front of my body in a protective stance.

"What?" I asked defensively.

Jasper was nearly doubled over in laughter, slapping his knee and clutching his side.

"What?!" I asked again, stamping my foot like a petulant child.

He wiped away a few tears from his eyes and took a few calming breaths.

"Are you serious, Bee? What if he doesn't like you? Dear lord! What isn't there to like about you? I mean this may sound weird and shit I really don't like thinking about you like this considering you're practically my sister and I've seen you a snotty, sick mess … but fuck, Bella! You're ridiculously hot! Long slender legs. An ass you could bounce a quarter off of. Tiny waist. Great boobs. Beautiful hair. Pouty lips and big round brown eye."

My mouth fell open and I probably looked like a fish out of water with the way I was opening and closing it, making that soft popping noise.

"Holy hell, Jasper!"

He brought his hand up behind his neck as the blush crept across his face, the soft pink tinting his cheeks gently.

"Yeah I know. I feel dirty for saying all that. I'm gonna need to watch some really bad, fake boob porn now to get that image out of my head. You wanna find some online later with me?" he said and looked everywhere in the kitchen except at my face.

Jasper and I did that sometimes. The internet was full of some of the funniest attempts at porn you could ever see. We spent one particularly amusing weekend compiling a list of the most clichéd things in porn from long fake nails on women to thick gold chains on men. Of course the horribly fake moaning was also near the top of the list along with the typical porn music.

I was still in shock though that Jasper would even say those things about me to even comprehend what he was saying. Was I really so perfect? I knew I was cute at the very least, but stunningly sexy like he had made me out to be? How could I have missed something like that when I looked in the mirror?

"Do I really look beautiful?" I asked all of a sudden. Jasper's head snapped up so his eyes finally met mine. His eyes shined pride and love only a best friend could give me.

"Of course you do, Bella. You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen and you have no idea the looks you get when we go out. I feel like I have to sub for Charlie with a baseball bat to keep all the drooling pervs off you. The Chief would have my ass if I ever let a guy touch you with anything less than completely honorable intentions. And that man knows how to use a gun! Do you think I'd ever cross him? My nuts would be separated from my junk in less time than it took for you to say 'Jasper's a pussy.' So does that answer your question, Bella Bear?"

Jasper cupped his crotch with both hand and had this half pleading, half humorous look on his face.

It was my turn to blush crimson at his words. Maybe it was time I took a good hard look at myself in the mirror to find the kind of beauty he was talking about.

"Yeah, I think it does," I finally said.

He wiped his brow in mock relief and turned back to the food that was now probably about as done as it was going to get.

We finished up the meal preparation together, working like the team we always had. While we were eating, Jasper confessed there was this girl he had his eye on at work. She was in charge of doing setup on the special exhibits. We gossiped like school girls about the whole thing, though Jasper drew the line when I jokingly suggested again that we braid each other's hair and watch _13 Going On 30_. One Jennifer Garner joke and he was over that idea.

I spent the rest of the night in my room, going over some edits I'd made to my book. They were mostly simple things, some typos and grammatical changes I thought needed to be made. There were a few small sections I rewrote. For some reason I couldn't place I was feeling suddenly productive and dare I say, inspired. Sure, I'd been more motivated to write lately thanks to looking at all the artwork at the museum, but I'd been a little lax thanks to spending so much time talking to Edward instead of writing in my notebook.

Not that I was complaining in the slightest.

Okay, I was complaining a bit, but not enough to make it worth to stop talking to Edward.

If I was being completely honest with myself, there was something about being around him that just made me happy. I woke up happy at the thought of seeing him every day and went to sleep wondering if he was thinking of me. I liked talking to him and seeing him laugh. I liked the lewd glint he got in his eye when he stared at my boobs. It made me feel sexy.

So maybe I could see what Jasper was saying. Edward made me feel sexy.

I crawled in bed that night and thought long and hard about how sexy Edward made me feel when his eyes were on me. How my heart seemed to race and my breathing pick up when he was close to me. How his smell was so good, a combination of some type of cologne, man, spice and perhaps a bit of paint around the edges. I thought about that long hair of his and how I wanted to run my finger though it. I thought about his perfect lips and that soft, gentle kiss he'd given me.

That night was the first night I touched myself thinking of Edward, his name a whispered sigh on my lips as I came.

The morning dawned bright and happy, but I rolled over with a groan in bed. I'd had crazy dreams that night, most of them rather sexual and perhaps bordering on obscene if I really wanted to admit it. I felt like some horny teenager who had just discovered the joy of sex. Sure, those first make outs and probing experiences were more exploration and learning than anything. Hell, I think the first time I actually touched a guy's cock I just about burst out laughing. Not exactly sexy. More like super freaking awkward and mood killing.

I felt like I was constantly thinking about sex now. A few time I even checked my undies to see if I'd grown a cock of my own, given that I was proverbially thinking with one so much. Thankfully there were no new appendages in unusual places for me to worry about.

Unfortunately morning brought with it complete and utter nervousness. I was jumpy and could barely sit still for longer than five minutes. I must have cleaned the kitchen five times and the bathroom at least six times. My bedroom was in my warpath as well, and my office got another deep cleaning.

I did that a lot - clean when I had a lot on my mind. I think it was some type of coping mechanism of mine. Keep my hands busy when my mind was otherwise occupied. My apartments in college were always spotless during finals, though that was also due to the fact I was probably avoiding studying more than anything. I never liked finals. They made me nervous.

I was getting the same feeling of butterflies all over again. That feeling of dread in the bottom of my stomach that made me sick and kept me on the verge of throwing up all day. It was a completely irrational fear, I knew that, but irrational fears meant little to an overactive mind. If anything they just fed the fears.

Jasper called around noon and I was so damn jumpy I about hit the ceiling when the phone rang loud and jarring my senses.

I babbled a bunch of stuff on the phone and he calmed me down like his typical Jasper way, assuring me that I was over thinking - yet again - and that everything would be okay. He distracted me by telling me about talking to the girl he was interested in. He told me about the twenty minute conversation they had outside the new exhibit she was currently setting up. I smiled and for a few minutes I wasn't thinking about nerves or Edward or anything like that. It felt good.

Jasper assured me he'd be home around five p.m. today, earlier than he normally was just so he could see me off to my date and make sure I was sufficiently dressed for the occasion. I goaded him about sounding more like my gay best friend than my straight best friend and he pulled out a fantastic impression of Carson Kressley from Queer Eye that had me laughing my ass off. It was a guilty pleasure show of ours.

As soon as I hung up the phone from talking to Jasper (with a last "go get 'em, soldier!" for him and this girl of his), my phone started ringing again. I stopped dead in my tracks though when Edward's personal ringtone started playing. My hands shook as I picked up the phone, determined not to let my nerves show.

"Hello?" I said into the phone.

"Hey you," he replied and I could hear the smile in his voice.

A bit of my nerves melted away hearing him in my ear, the slightly hard edge to his Chicago accent making me happy.

"Are we still on for tonight?" he asked, sounding a bit nervous himself. I bit my lip in happiness that I wasn't the only one who was apparently a bundle of nerves today.

"Yeah, it looks like it," I replied.

He exhaled, breathing out deeply.

"Good. I was hoping you'd say that. So this thing is at the Masen Gallery two blocks south of Washington on Michigan Avenue. There's no tickets or anything, so don't worry about that. I think a few of my … uh … friends … will be there, so I mean if you want to bring some of yours you can. There's an open bar and appetizers. Pretty good stuff normally if you get hungry. I might be kind of busy cause I kinda … uh … have to do something at it, but I'll definitely be with you most of the time I'm free. It's just … you know … business?"

His ramblings and nonsensical statements were amusing and I giggled softly to myself that he was now clearly nervous at this whole thing. It seemed like such a juxtaposition compared with how I had seen him so far. He seemed to be a fairly confident guy and he seemed so scared that I'd turn him down about going to this gallery thing tonight.

He continued rambling about something or other and I quickly moved to interrupt him.

"Edward?"

"… I just kind of want to see you … and I hope things aren't weird …"

"Edward!" I said into the phone louder.

"Oh shit. Sorry. What?"

I laughed softly again.

"It's okay. I get it. This is a business thing for you. No worries about that. I'm not going to get in the way of you making money so you can lounge around all day at the museum with me otherwise."

He chuckled at me and seemed to be calmer.

"Thanks, Bella. I guess I'm just nervous about tonight. I just … you know … nervous?" he finally admitted shyly.

"Yeah, I know. I'm kind of nervous too," I admitted, thinking that he was talking about the fact this was a sort of date for us.

"So I guess I'll see you later then. It starts around 7 p.m. so just show up whenever. I'll probably be there early so I don't want to drag you along ahead of time if you have stuff to do."

"Sounds good, Edward. I'll be there then."

His nerves were cute, and honestly made me feel a lot better about having my own nerves. I didn't feel like I was the only one who was kind of out of place in this whole thing. Obviously we were friends from having talked so much at the museum, but that didn't necessarily translate to any type of romantic feelings outside of that setting. Granted, I knew I was interested in him and Jasper told me that every indication Edward gave was that he was interested right back, but did I really know that for sure if he hadn't said the actual words?

Needless to say I was a bundle of nerves.

We said our goodbyes and hung up, with Edward telling me there wasn't any type of dress code for this thing. It might have been a dumb question he snorted at, but I didn't know any different given that I'd never been to a gallery opening, event or anything like it for that matter. I'd been to book stuff for my first novel, but those were kind of different … I guess.

My phone closed and resting on my desk, the nerves returned. I made myself busy by baking a cake, red velvet that was Jasper's favorite. I even iced the thing and decorated it to look all pretty. Distracting myself, much?

I flipped the television on and watched some mindless late afternoon reality shows, laughing my ass off at a decade-old episode of Jerry Springer. Those shows never got old, especially the paternity episodes. Those were my favorite.

Jasper got back from work at his promised 5 p.m. He had this huge dopey grin on his face and I punched him in the arm when he refused to tell me if he'd talked to the girl at work any more that afternoon. But the faraway look in his eyes told me everything. He'd definitely talked to her and definitely made some headway right along with it. I was actually really happy for him and proud too.

But he made the mistake of asking me "are you nervous about tonight?" which brought me right back to the situation at hand. Hell yeah I was nervous and the fact that he was asking me if I was nervous made me doubly nervous.

I kept running around trying on clothes like a madwoman, frantically finding something that seemed 'arty' enough for a gallery event while still not looking too formal or too casual.

I was being a typical woman, something I rarely did.

Jasper kept laughing at me the whole time, his dimples out in full force. A few times I pulled on his blond curls and he yelped in pain. Served him right for laughing at me.

Finally I settled on a green flouncy skirt I'd picked up at one of the Chicago street markets last summer and a cute white v-neck top, knowing that Edward liked staring at my boobs. At least this way I gave him something to look at, right?

My hair was being frustrating as usual so I threw it back into a low ponytail, tucking a piece of hair over the band to hide it like someone had shown me during my book promotions. I swiped some light makeup on my face, mostly because I wasn't a huge fan of the stuff even though I did want to look pretty tonight. Eyeshadow, mascara and powder plus the normal lipgloss. Nothing particularly fancy.

By the time I was done getting ready it was getting close to 6:30 p.m. and my nerves were back in full force. If I thought I couldn't sit still earlier in the day, now it was even worse. I paced back and forth in the kitchen and watched Jasper devour the biggest slice of red velvet cake I'd seen him eat in perhaps a decade. The cake would be enough for me for dinner, but Jasper had an enormous appetite and would probably end up eating the entire cake tonight while I was gone.

The clock in the kitchen ticked away the minutes until I planned on leaving and I swear I heard the second hand click off each second.

Finally I stopped pacing and turned around, eyes wide and focused on Jasper.

"I can't do it," I stated.

Jasper's fork froze in mid air and he stared at me.

"Do what?" he asked, a bit of cake falling back onto the plate.

"I can't go."

He rolled his eyes at me and shoved the forkful of food into his mouth.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said with mouthful of cake.

"I'm not being ridiculous. Okay, maybe I'm being a little ridiculous. I'm just really nervous, Jay. Like really really nervous. I mean, these are art people. And Edward. And me. And art. In the same place. Together. And I have to mingle! You know how I hate doing that. I'm terrible at it. That shit makes me break out in sweats. All the eyes on me and random, awkward smalltalk and what if they want to talk about art that I don't know about? What if Edward's busy all night and I have to entertain myself while he goes off and does whatever he has to do? What then?" I rambled on.

Jasper listened intently and carefully chewed the last bit of cake.

"Well …" he finally said slowly.

"Come with me!" I shouted out.

"Bella! This is supposed to be a date! Or at least an 'almost date.' Guys don't just invite someone to something like this if they're not interested. How weird would that be to show up to a date with a friend? A male friend no less! Talk about mixed messages, sweetie. Everything will be okay. Just smile and nod at people if they want to talk art. Let them talk and do the casual 'oh' and 'ah' I know you're good at," he explained to me.

I waved my arms around in the air at him. "No, really. It'll be cool. He said he'll have friends there too and if I wanted to bring some it would be okay. That means it's totally okay if you come. I mean we don't have to act like we're together and lovey dovey and all that crap. We can do that. We've done it before."

Jay rolled his eyes at me and put his plate down calmly.

"Yeah because that's worked really well before for us…" I heard him mutter.

"What was that?" I asked, my voice sounding high and shrill even to my own ears.

"Oh nothing!" he responded quickly.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

"Fine. I'll go with you. I didn't have anything planned for tonight anyway. Just reading something and watching _V for Vendetta_ again. Give me five minutes and I'll be back all spiffied up ready to go," he relented and walked towards his bedroom.

"You're a lifesaver!" I called after him while wringing my hands.

"You owe me big, Baby Bee! Like super big! I'm expecting ribs for dinner this weekend, kiddo!" he shouted to me.

I laughed and the butterflies in my stomach jumped a bit.

"You got it!"

True to his word, Jasper was back in no time, looking presentable in a pair of nice jeans and button up shirt. The standard 'guy going out' uniform as we sometimes joked.

"Looking sharp there, Jay," I commented and wolf whistled.

He bowed and took my hand, spinning me around in the kitchen.

"Nothing but the best for my not-date on her almost-date," he laughed.

Finally we were ready to go and I shuffled my feet in the elevator on the way down, clearly still nervous despite Jasper's soothing presence. A few times he grabbed my hand and tried to unclench my tightly wrapped fingers, something I did when I was nervous.

"Everything will be fine" he kept saying.

I wasn't exactly sure I believed him.

We grabbed a cab over to the gallery, the cab driver giving us an odd look when Jasper put his arm around me in the cab to keep me warm. It was a cool night and I'd just grabbed a light coat because I didn't now if I'd have to carry around the coat at the gallery or not. I figured it would be a pretty upscale place if it was on Michigan Avenue, but I didn't want to assume anything.

We pulled up outside the address Edward had given me, light shining through the big glass windows of the gallery already. There were a few people mulling around inside and there was a huge painting that looked quite familiar in the window.

My hand went over my mouth and I gasped.

"Oh god. This is for EC!" I squealed.

"Who's EC?" Jasper asked as he forked over cash to the driver to pay for our ride.

"The artist Edward and I have been admiring at the museum. We practically live in his special gallery. This is so exciting!" I said, practically bouncing with anticipation.

The nervous butterflies were still there, but they were mixed with the new excitement of seeing other works by EC that weren't hanging in the museum. And perhaps even meeting the artist himself.

I took a deep breath and pulled Jasper towards the front door, pulling it open and walking into the warm gallery. It was just like I pictured an independent art gallery would look like. Light wood floors, white walls, overhead lighting framing the artwork. Pretty much exactly like the museum except nobody was being as quiet.

There were people milling about, some snacking on goodies loaded onto little palm sized plates. All around there were several groups of people standing in front of paintings and quietly talking about them. In the corner as promised, there was a bar and table of finger foods.

I scanned the faces of people to see if I recognized anybody and hoped I'd see Edward.

Unfortunately there was nobody I knew and certainly no Edward.

I told myself that made sense since he was probably doing something related to whatever business he did in the art world. He was probably off making deals or talking to critics or something. The logical part of my brain knew that.

The illogical part was telling me he stood me up, despite that clearly being untrue.

My breathing picked up and I felt Jasper's hand rubbing between my shoulder blades in a comforting action. I turned to look at him and he smiled at me. I smiled back, silently thanking him for being such a good friend. He could have easily told me to go by myself tonight or worse, but he didn't. He supported me even though he thought I should have gone alone. Jasper was just good like that.

"Edward!" I heard a female voice squeal and my head turned towards the sound instinctually.

There in the back of the gallery, almost out of sight I saw a beautiful blond woman quickly moving through the crowd of people towards a door that I hadn't noticed before. The sea of people parted and right in the middle stood the person I wanted to see the most tonight.

Edward looked amazing in a park of dark washed denim and crisp white button up shirt with a grey vest. I hadn't seen him looking so good all the time we'd known each other and I think I may have actually drooled a bit.

His head snapped towards the sudden noise and for a brief second our eyes connected across the room. The smile that lit up his face was magnetic. I couldn't help a matching smile racing across my face.

"There's my Edward!" the woman squealed again and she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and no doubt pushing her breasts right into his chest.

My Edward? The words hung in my brain and I couldn't make sense of them.

She curled her arm around him protectively and turned back to the crowd.

It was then that I recognized her.

It was the blond woman from the painting in the museum.

The beautiful one that left me speechless and feeling a little more than unworthy.

"I love this man," she said proudly, possessiveness clear in her voice.

All my air left my lungs in a whoosh and Jasper's head snapped to my face. Having witnessed the entire exchange between the blond woman and Edward himself, he put his hand on my shoulder, a steadying act of comfort.

I felt … I just … I don't know what I felt.

The pit of my stomach dropped out and for a second I thought I actually might vomit right there on the beautiful wood floor. Nothing like dry heaves in public to really make yourself know, right?

I looked back up at the scene in front of me and Edward's eyes were locked onto me from across the gallery.

Big green eyes that I'd looked into for so long and wondered if he was as interested in me as I was in him.

I can't believe I'd been that stupid.

I turned away from him, breaking the connection between us. Jasper's arms wrapped around my body and I tried to maintain my composure. I could do this. No big deal. Edward and I were friends and we could still be friends. Just because he had this Amazonian woman who looked like she could stamp me out with her Jimmy Choos didn't mean we couldn't be friends.

Right?

Oh who was I kidding.

I was stupid for even thinking he was interested.

* * *

**Edward**

I stood there with Rosalie claiming me like a bitch in heat and my heart broke seeing Bella's face from across the gallery.

I should never have done this. I should never have not told her everything.

I was such a fucking moron.

But then my world broke even more.

The guy next to her … he just … pulled her in for the most tender, most loving hug I'd ever seen. Protecting her. Loving her. Just being there with her.

There was no other explanation than the clear one.

They were obviously together.

If I was a fucking moron for not telling Bella everything, I was an even bigger moron for believing someone so great would be single.

I can't believe I didn't see this.

I should have known.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

***hides for playing the cliched miscommunication card ... I'm sorry* **


	10. Chapter 10: Blow Ups and Make Ups

**A/N: I know … I know. Hate me if you want. But if you're still here, let me explain. I moved and started my second year of law school along with fighting a wicked case of writer's block. Forgive me. **

**The Inspiration **

**Chapter 10: Blow Ups and Make Ups**

**Bella**

So there I was.

Standing in a gallery watching Edward practically get peed on by the she-wolf Amazon lady over there while she managed to deflate my ego with her perfect stilettos that I would probably look absolutely ridiculous in. Jasper cooing in my ear telling me how I was so great and perfect, that Edward was a jerk face for even bothering with Blondie when he could have me instead.

Yeah, he actually used the words "jerk face." I'm totally serious.

What was he? Two?

You'd think by now I'd totally be freaking out and crying my eyes out, typical Bella style. I'd be overreacting and thinking how I wasn't good enough, I wasn't pretty enough, I wasn't fill in the blank.

Okay fine. Maybe I felt that for a few seconds … or minutes.

But that's not the point.

As Jasper's warm arms tightened around me and the tears on the edge of my eyes dried up, I refused to let those feelings overtake me.

I was a successful writer with a bestselling book. I had a sense of humor and was amazingly smart. I could play both the innocent virgin while still having that naughty school girl edge. And I had great tits to boot. For real! What was there to feel bad about?

Well, besides the fact I just pretty much got denied by a complete hottie in front of an entire art gallery full of people. I was just thankful that only few of them actually knew what was going on.

Meaning Jasper and me. And if Edward wasn't a complete douche him too.

But he wasn't my concern at the moment.

"You wanna go home?" Jasper whispered in my ear as he rubbed small circles into my back.

Hmmm, so clearly I was getting the sympathy card from him. Jasper was always the more in touch with his feelings between the two of us. Probably something about having an ex-hippy for a mother. I always found it amusing that Mrs. Whitlock used to tie daisy chains and protest against nuclear weapons in her teenage years. Especially now that she was a CPA who stressed out big time around tax season. So much for the free love …

The question was now: how did I want to play this?

I thought of my potential outcomes for this.

Choice number one was to play the sympathy card and have Jasper take me home. That would make me miss the show and potentially miss seeing and/or meeting the very artist whose art was being exhibited.

On the other hand I could avoid seeing Barbarella claim a guy who never really was my man for her own and milk it like it was her job. I half expected a pole to come lowering out of the ceiling at any moment so she could start taking her clothes off to get those precious dollar bills all strippers covet.

I kid.

Somewhat.

Choice number two was stay and enjoy what would probably be a pretty cool art show. I would get to see some EC works I hadn't before and the chances were excellent I'd get to see the artist himself. Those little nosh foods they had over on the table looked pretty tasty too.

The downside to this path was quite obvious. I'd be subjected to Hootie McTits grinding her junk all over Edward and this would quite possibly lead me to lose my lunch and likely my dinner as well. Add any potential open bar products to this mix and I couldn't guarantee my girl claws wouldn't come out.

I got a little territorial sometimes when I had a few martinis in me.

Okay, a lot territorial.

There's a funny story about Jasper, a drunk sorority girl and me with three albeit watered down martinis in me I'll tell you about sometime. Let's just say I wasn't the one who ended up in the emergency room. But it was in self defense, I swear.

Both choices before me had their downsides, but they also had potentially pretty cool upsides.

Add to that the little voice in my head telling me not to chicken out and I pretty much made up my mind.

I would stay, for better or worse.

I just hoped it wouldn't be for worse.

"No, I'm good. We can stay. Stripperella over there doesn't scare me," I said confidently and pushed Jasper away from me.

He sucked in a sharp breath and looked at me like I'd grown an extra head or something. I was half tempted to reach up to check just in case. He was really boggled and I could totally tell it.

"You sure?" he finally said after he lost that gaping fish look.

"Yeah. A little competition doesn't scare me. Besides, she probably does anal and Edward's probably into that kinda thing. You know my rule about that," I answered and fiddled with my clothes.

"Exit only," we both said at the same time before busting into huge grins and laughter.

We got a few sideways curious looks as we laughed at our shared joke, the product of a drunk conversation in college where I admitted just a little too much information to Jasper about my sexual preferences. While I wasn't opposed to some spice in the bedroom, I wasn't about to let some guy stick his dick up my ass. No way, no how.

"Damn, Bee. I didn't think you'd be cool with this. I figured you'd be all 'wahhhhhh!' cry baby and we'd run home with our tails between our legs like we'd been kicked while we were down," Jasper said and grinned at me.

I waved him off with my hand.

"Oh please. I'd never do that kind of thing," I scoffed.

Jasper gave me the universal look of 'are you shitting me?'.

"Okay fine. I may have done that. That was choice number two. But come on! We're here for some cool artwork, free food and the potential for artist interaction. So what if I have to deal with Perfect Tits over there and her stripper style grinding?" I said and waived my hand in the blonde's direction, where she was of course still loudly professing her adoration for Edward.

In all actuality it kind of made me sick. Can we say a bit much, girlie?

Jasper was still somewhat gaping at me, but by now he was at least covering it up better and he seemed to be believing that I was at least minimally okay with this whole situation.

"Well … I'm going to be honest here and say I'm kind of shocked by this reaction. I'm not sure I would have pegged you as someone who'd be okay with this situation. Especially considering you were freaking out if Edward liked you or not something like 36 hours ago. You sure there's no waterworks that are going to spontaneously combust here in the next sixty seconds? Cause I mean, you have to prepare me for those. You know I freak out when you cry and go into super protector Big Brother Jasper mode. I hate when you cry Bee and it might make me go punch Easy E over there in the 'nads," Jasper huffed and balled up his fists.

I just stared at him.

"Seriously Jay? 'Easy E'? "Nads'? What is this? 1994?!" I blurted out in shock.

He just put his hand up into his hair and scratched at his scalp, his trademark slight blush taking over his cheeks.

"Damn Bee, don't be like that. I didn't realize how stupid I sounded until you pointed it out," he said and grimaced.

"I'm just … wow … come on! Easy E? Next thing you know you're going to be wearing puffy pants and one of those thick gold chains!" I giggled.

Jasper quickly joined my laughter again, this time earning us more sideways curious glances than before.

As our laughter died down though, Jasper put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me in for a hug. I could feel his laughter still bubbling in his chest.

"I'm serious though, Bella. You want his junk punched, you just tell me. And I'm not opposed to hitting a girl if you know what I mean. Grandma Whitlock will spin in her grave, but I think she'll excuse it this one time," he whispered quietly into my ear.

His loyalty made my heart warm with happiness.

"Thanks, Jasper. If I want the bitch hit, I'll give you the signal."

He let me go and his eyes veered towards the table of goodies.

I sighed with a smile.

"Now let's go get us some appetizers!" I giggled again and turned towards the table, setting off before Jasper could realize what happened to him.

Our plates sufficiently loaded with tiny sandwiches, mini quiches and chocolate-covered strawberries, it was time to wander around and look at the artwork. Jasper conspicuously looped his arm through mine and veered me away from wherever Edward seemed to be moving towards. There was one moment when I thought Edward was walking towards me, but Jasper pulled me to look at this one painting of a woman stretched out across her bed. Nude of course. That seemed to be EC's thing.

We grabbed some of the champagne that was floating around thanks to dapper looking waiters and their booze-laden trays and I quickly found the bubbles going to my head. Normal liquor I was fairly good with. I could manage a few drinks before it made me sloshy, but champagne was a different beast all together. One and a half glasses and I was burping and feeling slightly fuzzy.

I giggled when Jasper made a comment about one of the paintings, something about how he'd like to have the woman in his bed and see if she was really as good looking as EC had painted her. Thankfully he wasn't talking about Slutty McHooterson who still was grinding her probably syphilis-infected junk all over my former almost-man.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" a deep booming voice said behind us and Jasper and I turned around to see Edward standing next to another man who looked strikingly similar. They both had dark hair, though Edward's was much longer and had some reddish tints to it.

The man grinned at the crowd who had settled into a semi circle around him and Edward, Tits McGee standing proudly off to the side with a shit eating grin.

Edward looked horribly uncomfortable standing there with the eyes trained on him and the speaker and even though I was trying to be mad at him, I couldn't help but understand that feeling. Just because I was an author didn't mean I liked to be the center of attention. Cameras freaked me out and having lots of sets of eyes trained on me made me squirm in my seat.

"I'd like to welcome everybody to tonight's event. If you don't already know me, my name is Emmett Cullen. I'm the one you talk to if you want to purchase any of these here purty pictures," he said with a clearly faked southern accent. "I hope you all have enjoyed yourselves and partaken of the refreshments; I know I certainly have!"

The crowd laughed and several people held their champagne flutes in the air.

We were standing off to the side in the back of the open space in the gallery and from the distance we were away, I could still feel Edward's eyes boring into me. I tried to not stare back, and instead I kept my eyes trained on this Emmett guy. The name sounded slightly familiar, but I couldn't place it thanks to the bubbles floating around in my brain.

I hiccupped all of a sudden and Jasper's head turned toward me.

He grinned at me and chuckled a few times.

"Oh Bella. Give you a Four Horseman and you're fine. A few sips of champagne and you're sloppy drunk," he laughed.

"I'm not drunk!" I hissed at him under my breath, hoping nobody around us could hear. "Now shuddup and listen to the muscled dude in the $3000 suit."

His smile widened and he turned back towards Emmett and Edward.

"Art is something very subjective that you either love or you hate. As an agent I've seen a lot of crappy art and I'm sure you all have seen your fair share too. For every one Monet there are a thousand finger painters looking to make it big. As my grandmother often told my sisters, 'you gotta kiss a lot of toads before you find your prince!'" he was saying.

Edward's posture next to Emmett only seemed to broadcast that he was growing more uncomfortable with each passing moment.

Briefly I wondered why he would be so uncomfortable and why in the world he'd be practically center stage for this event tonight.

"That's the beauty about art though," Emmett continued. "Art is something that everybody can enjoy, whether you're an expert or a novice. It doesn't take someone well versed or trained to know what looks good. I am proud to say that what is hanging on the walls around is good. No, it's better than good. It's fantastic. And there's only one person to thank for the beauty that we see tonight."

A sudden look of panic flashed across Edward's face and all the blood seemed to drain from him.

"EC himself, my client and favorite cousin, Edward Cullen," Emmett roared and the crowd started clapping.

It took a few moments for what he had said to register in my brain and when it finally hit me, I was the one who felt like I'd had all blood drained from me.

Edward … EC … Edward Cullen … my Edward … Stalker Boy …

What.

The.

Fuckity.

Fuck?!

"Bella!" Jasper gasped and the entire crowd turned around in my direction.

Apparently I hadn't just thought those words. They'd come out of my mouth as well.

"Bella!" Jay hissed and pulled on my arm in the direction of the exit.

"What the hell just happened?!" I exclaimed loudly, people still openly gaping at me.

I took a few steps backward and looked up to find Edward's shocked eyes locked directly onto me. Next to him Emmett looked confused and Blondie looked … smug? Well, admittedly she looked smug most of the night so this wasn't too much of a change. She'd wrapped her hand around Edward's upper arm and Edward shook her off, almost like he was disgusted by her touch.

"Jasper, what did he just say? Did he say Edward was EC, as in EC the famous painter?" I asked Jasper who was still trying to get me away from people and presumably out onto the chilly Chicago street.

"Yes, Bella. He did. Now I really think we should go before this gets out of hand. I can feel it coming," Jasper replied in an even tone.

How could he be so freaking calm right now?

"Oh hell no!" I exclaimed again and shook of Jasper's grip as hard as I could.

I pushed the sea of people apart as bodies moved out of my way until I stood before Edward. His mouth had fallen open and his eyes were both asking for forgiveness and laced with shock.

Or at least that's what I was projecting on him.

The entire gallery of people fell dead silent. I'm sure you could hear the proverbial pin drop if you listened hard enough. Too bad it was the other shoe dropping instead.

Talk about a great night in Bella-land. First I watch him get molested by a classy stripper (I'll give her the point she at least looked like she'd be worth the money for the lap dance). And now I get the shock of my life that the entire time I'd been talking to Edward about EC's works, raving about how brilliant they were, I'd been talking to EC himself.

"Are you EC?" I asked firmly and the crowd seemed to lean forward as if waiting for Edward's response.

His mouth closed and opened a few times, making that quiet popping noise that never led to anything good coming out.

"Yes," he finally said.

It was a knee jerk reaction.

My open palm met the side of his face quicker than you can say "battery and assault." A collective gasp burst through the crowd and to be perfectly honest I was just as shocked as they were.

I'd never actually slapped someone in my life.

Now seemed to be like the perfect moment to christen my typically female response.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" I shrieked and felt my blood pressure start to rise. My vision started to get slightly fuzzy, a combination of the rage and adrenaline coursing through my system now.

If Edward looked shocked before, he looked about a million times more shocked now. And I am so not exaggerating on that one either. His shock level was probably off the charts. Hell, my own shock was staggering.

I took a sideways glance at Emmett and his face seemed to mirror Edward's. Up close I could fell the family resemblance. It was probably their fathers who were brothers, the dominant genes clearly visible in each cousin. There was a little vein though that was pulsing in Emmett's forehead and I couldn't tell if it was from anger or mirth.

Probably a combination of the two.

Apparently mirth must have won out though because a staggeringly long second elapsed before he burst out into the loudest, most bone shaking laughter. It was his turn to be stared at now, every eye trained on him and the ridiculousness of the situation starting to settle on me as well.

The whole thing seemed like one big comedy of errors.

The difference was I'm not sure Shakespeare intended to include public humiliation, finger foods and champagne in his story.

"Edward!" Blondie snarled and I turned my head to look at her. She had a downright murderous look on her face.

"Rose! Not now!" Edward snapped at her, and my heart thudded in my chest randomly.

"But … she hit you!" she barked out.

Edward rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, looking downright exasperated with this Rose girl.

"Yeah, well I probably deserved it. Now go try to blow off someone else. I'm not interested and I never will be. I think I've made myself very clear by now," Edward snapped again.

It was my turn to have the shocked look as Rose's look of outrage turned from me to Edward.

"Well … I … you bastard! All I've ever done was be nice to you! I've made you famous with my face and this is how you repay me? Public humiliation?!" she shrieked and started lunging for Edward.

I instinctually stepped in front of him as Emmett leaned to pull her back, his huge hand wrapping around her arm and holding her off Edward easily.

"That's enough, Rosalie," he said firmly.

She huffed and straightened her long blond waves of hair, pulling them out of her face before smoothing her skirt down.

I heard snickers around us and was only then aware that everybody in the gallery was watching us like we were better than a live play, which we probably were. To the outside eye the whole thing was probably both confusing as hell and massively entertaining. Kind of like a car or train wreck. You know the shitstorm is coming, but you can't look away.

If I wasn't one of the actors in the drama I'd probably be staring right along with them.

Jasper stood there in the back of the room with his arms crossed across his chest, a little smirk plastered across his face. From the look he was giving me, I knew I'd never live this moment down as long as I lived. He and I would be old in the nursing home together and he'd remind me of "the time when you slapped the pansy-assed arty guy."

Not that Edward was a pansy at all. Not after hearing him tell off Hottie McTits, who still looked rather incredulous at what had just happened.

Emmett was pulling her away from Edward and me, a half shocked-half pleased look on his face.

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, and I turned around expecting it to be Jasper urging me out of the spotlight and back into the anonymity of the Chicago streets.

Instead it was Edward with a contrite look on his face and sad eyes.

"Bella, I really think we need to talk … in private," he said quietly and glanced around to the crowd of eyes still trained on us.

I nodded my head in agreement and awkwardly let my arms hang beside my body that had seemingly lost its fight. I felt exhausted already, like I'd run a couple marathons tonight.

I guess adrenaline will do that to you along with good champagne.

Edward's warm hand wrapped around my wrist and he pulled me past several people who were conspicuously trying to look away, almost like they didn't want to be caught gaping. A low buzz of voices seemed to be springing up around us, no doubt gossiping at the spectacle that was our lives.

I wouldn't be surprised if tonight's events found their way onto the gossip pages the next day. I could see the headlines now. "Famous Artist Caught in Public Threesome" or "A Slap In The Face For Modern Art."

Ugh.

I had really embarrassed both myself and Edward tonight and I had a feeling I was only going to feel worse as the night went on, though how that was possible I didn't know.

Edward guided me to a door and opened it, holding his arm out so I could go in before him. The room was probably an office for the gallery and a desk sat in the middle of the room with piles of paperwork flooding the horizontal surface.

He shut the door behind him and the dull hum of people's voices quieted, leaving only our loudly beating heartbeats and the rasping of our breath.

Edward almost looked awkward as he ran his hand through his hair, something I'd come to realize was a nervous habit of his. I shifted on my feet, unsure what I should do other than stand there.

"You can sit down if you want," Edward said and gestured to a little loveseat along one wall of the office.

Though my feet were suddenly killing me at the mention of sitting down, I shook my head mutely and Edward sighed.

"Very well," he said quietly and began to pace in the small space of the office.

I really had no idea what he was thinking about and even though I probably should have been thinking about everything that had happened along with all the night's revelations, my mind was suspiciously blank. All I could do was watch Edward struggle to form words as he paced and kept tugging at his hair.

My heart ticked off the seconds, the silence bearing down on me and making my breath come out in short staccato huffs.

Edward seemed to be mumbling something too low for me to hear even in the surprising silence of the office.

My earlier anger at him seemed to be quickly dissipating in favor of simply wanting an explanation for everything that had happened.

As was par for the evening's course, my mouth spit out something quicker than it registered in my brain.

"So what's with Stripperella back there?"

Edward stopped and stared at me before bursting into laughter. The sound was like music to my ears and brought me back to a time only a few days ago, though it seemed like much longer.

"Oh Bella!" he exclaimed with humor in his eyes. "I can always count on you to lighten the mood."

"No seriously. What's with her? Care to explain to the class?" I answered, undeterred by Edward's attempt at flattery.

His laughter stopped after a moment and he took a second moment to gather his thoughts again.

"Rose is … well, she'd difficult. Always has been. I'd like to chalk it up to her being a model, but I'm sure it's probably a lot more than that. She seems to think that we would be perfect together and has pretty much been trying to get in my pants since she set eyes on me. Too bad The Dude isn't interested and neither am I," he chuckled at the last bit.

The Dude? Who the hell was 'The Dude?'

Edward continued before I could ask that question.

"She likes to make my life more difficult than it really is. Very typical Rosalie actually."

I snorted as his choice of words.

"Yeah, cause the life of a famous artist is sooooooooo difficult," I said sarcastically.

His eyes narrowed on me and he started pacing.

"You'd be surprised," he mumbled under his breath.

I rolled my eyes at him. His life couldn't be that difficult if he had the time to sit around in The Art Institute all day talking to me.

Which reminded me of an overarching question in my mind.

"So why did you lie to me?" I blurted out and Edward stopped pacing to look up at me again.

He ran his hand through his hair and I made a mental note to remind him not to do that as much if he wanted to keep his hair until old age. Charlie did that a lot and he was slowly getting a little patch of skin on the crown of his head.

"I didn't outright lie to you, Bella," he finally said.

"Yeah because only giving me half the truth is so much different."

He sighed and flopped down on the couch that his pacing had brought him in front of.

"I suppose you're right."

I twisted my hands together, nervously flicking at the ring my mother had given me when I'd graduated college that was on the middle finger of my right hand.

"It's just all the things you were saying about EC's work – my work I guess – were so nice and meaningful. I've received a lot of compliments from everybody under the sun and it seemed like the ones that have meant the most to me in my life have come from you. I just wanted you to be able to talk freely without worrying about censoring yourself. You shouldn't have to edit around me," Edward said and hung his head slightly, his palm rubbing the still slightly red mark I'd given him.

"Sorry I slapped you," I said quietly.

"S'okay. I wasn't kidding when I told Rose I deserved it. I feel like a complete dick for not telling you right away. You've done nothing but be wonderful and all I've done is evade the truth and dance around lies," he answered sorrowfully.

I couldn't stop the giggle that erupted out of my mouth.

"What?" Edward asked, his eyebrows narrowing in confusion.

"The mental image of you dancing around anything is pretty freaking funny," I replied while continuing to lightly giggle.

He chuckled a few times, ending with another sigh. "Yeah, you're right about that one"

Silence fell between us and it seemed like neither knew what to say to break it. Edward was bouncing his right leg and I played with my ring.

"So I bet your boyfriend wants to rip my nuts off right about now, huh?" Edward finally said with a grimace.

My head snapped up and I burst out laughing.

"What? What did I say? Oh shit, he totally does, doesn't he?" he groaned and covered his crotch with both hands.

I knew I should have corrected his error in judgment but what he said was just so freaking funny I couldn't stop laughing. Fold in half, bring tears to my eyes laughing.

"Seriously, Bella! Let me in on the joke here cause from where I'm sitting I could use some humor. I pretty much just made a fucking spectacle of my career, probably lost my best model and found out the girl I'm into is dating another guy," Edward said and clutched at the couch's edge with taut knuckles.

"Jasper's … not … my … oh hell this is funny … boyfriend! He's gonna shit himself when he hears you said that. Or probably hurl chunks, either way," I hacked out between loud guffaws.

As suddenly as my laughter had started though, it came to a crashing halt as Edward's words hit me.

"Wait, wait, wait. Back the freaking train up, Geronimo. Did I just hear what I think I heard?" I said with my heart beating thunderously in my ears. I held my breath in anticipation for Edward's answer.

The thought flitted through my mind I'd been less nervous to receive an answer when I had opened the first response letter from an agent in regards to my book.

This answer had a whole lot more riding on it.

"What's that?" Edward returned, confusion lacing his expression.

"Did you just say you're 'into me?' Like check yes or no into me?" I whispered.

His mega watt smile spread across his face, blinding me and making my already quick heartbeat speed up. I swear that smile of his was a dangerous weapon.

I must have lost a few seconds of consciousness because in practically a single heartbeat, Edward was standing in front of me. He lifted his hand to my face and his long fingers skimmed the back of my cheek, the heat of his skin burning into mine. Fire lurched through my blood as he placed one finger under my chin and tilted my face up to his.

He was looking down at me through those eyelashes of his and I think I stopped breathing. Being this close to him, feeling the warmth of his body right up next to mine made my mind fuzzy.

"Bella, you have to breath," he said quietly.

"Okay," I whispered.

We stood there, his finger still holding my head up. It felt like it weighed a ton and if he let me go I'd fall crashing back towards the Earth I was slowly floating away from.

I sucked in a stilted breath and Edward grinned at me, his smile crooked on one side. It was an effortless smile, one that made happiness bubble up in the pit of my stomach.

"So no boyfriend then?" he asked.

"No," I answered and grinned back, suddenly happier than I had been in my whole life to be single.

Edward brought his head down towards my face and his nose brushed against mine. His breath was hot against my skin and it scrambled my thoughts. I could think of nothing more than what was about to happen.

His lips brushed mine feather light, and even just that simple kiss made molten lava run hot and bright through me. My body felt like it was on fire.

"Good because I'd hate to know I was kissing another guy's girlfriend," Edward whispered against my lips before melting his lips onto mine once again.

This kiss wasn't as whisper thin. It ignited me, set me ablaze and burned me to a pile of smoldering ashes. Some guys were all tongue when they kissed or had too much slobber. Half the time I felt like I was being eaten alive.

But Edward's kiss … well, I couldn't find words and I was a writer.

My hands came up to rest on his hips and I pulled him to me, letting him know without having to bring my lips off his that I was enjoying the moment.

When my lungs threatened to explode if I didn't get air, I gently pulled back and gasped for whatever I could get. My chest burned, half from the kiss and half from the oxygen deprivation.

Edward was breathing heavily just like me and pulled me in for a hug, his arms wrapping around me and crushing me to his chest. I inhaled deeply, smelling faint traces of turpentine laced with oil paints under the top notes of his cologne that frankly had parts of me tingling. At least now I knew why he smelled like an artist.

It's because he was an artist.

I burrowed my head in his chest, luxuriating in the way he felt next to me.

"Edward?" I mumbled into his shirt.

"Mmmhmmm," he hummed and I felt the vibration through my body.

I pulled my face back a little and looked up at him. From this angle I saw the clean line of his jaw and placed a gentle kiss right at the top. Edward missed a breath as my lips connected with his skin.

I looked back at his face and he seemed to be marveling at me.

"Just so we're being honest here, you should probably know I'm a bestselling author, okay?" I said quietly.

His mouth fell open and I giggled internally.

"You're a what now?" was his incredulous response.


End file.
